Somewhere
by AdequateLexicon
Summary: Based  somewhat loosely  on West Side Story.  No genderbending, if you were wondering.  GerIta  Hinted at couples include USxUK, RoChu, FraCan, and the confusing mess that is Austria, Hungary and Prussia
1. When You're A Jet

**Arbitrary Author's Note: I chose characters based off of personalities, and nothing else. **_**Technically, **_**Vash should be a 'neutral', not on either side, and so should his sister, but then he couldn't fire a gun so I didn't do that.**

**Yeah, this isn't that original of an idea, but whatever. I did it for fun, and I hope you enjoy. :)**

Gilbert was infatuated with the gang life.

He wasn't sure why because, in all honesty, he should have been killed long ago for his smartass mouth. But no, he had survived (no, thrived) on the streets. When asked about it, he could never really pinpoint what, exactly, he liked about it. He enjoyed sticking it to authority. (Always pleasant.) He liked fighting, more than he would care to admit. But deep down, what he really liked about being in a gang wasn't either of those things. And though he would have never admitted to it (it's not very badass) the simple reason was that he felt loved. His mother died giving birth to his baby brother, and his father was shot by someone, though Gilbert was too young to remember who, exactly, his father had pissed off. The point was, he grew up alone, having to care for his little brother on the streets. Being taken in by (and, eventually, becoming the de facto leader of) the Jets was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He always tried to remember that during times such as this one.

Gilbert did enjoy the adrenaline rush of fighting, but he simply wasn't very strong. His true strength lied in his speed, because he was fairly good at dodging attacks and, if he had to, running away. (It was a moot point. Gilbert _never _ran away from a fight.) He fought alongside Roderich, or Rod. In Gilbert's opinion, Rod had _major _anger issues that he needed to work out, but in his particular 'line of work', anger issues were not the worst vice to be had. Besides, Rod was his best friend, so he was partial to overlooking his flaws. The other two members were Vash, who was amazing at fighting, and his nameless little brother. Little brother had a soft, girly voice, and was not so amazing at fighting, but it was somewhat of a package deal.

Just as he was about to wipe that smug smirk off of Antonio's face (Antonio being the leader of their rival gang, the Sharks) the cops had to show up. _Damn, damn, damn. _Of course Gilbert hated the cops, not only because they were cops, but because these particular law enforcement men were complete and total dicks.

Lt. Jones was pretty bad. He had a serious patriotism fetish, which he made completely obvious every time he opened his mouth, and it was a common joke among the Jets that he jerked it to pictures of American flags (when he wasn't screwing Officer Kirkland, of course). Officer Kirkland was even worse, because he spoke in a proper British accent. Gilbert's friendly advice to him was usually something along the lines of, "Gee, Officer Kirkland, maybe if you got that stick out of your ass, you'd be a much happier fellow!" Okay, not the smartest thing to say to a cop, but surely he was used to it. Of all the Jets, Gilbert had the biggest mouth.

"Cease and desist! Cease and desist!" cried Officer Kirkland, foolishly acting as if he had any control over anything (which, and anyone could attest to this, he did not). "You need to stop it, right now. Any questions?"

"Si," replied Antonio. "Can you give those instructions in Spanish?" His little cronies snickered. Gilbert rolled his eyes. _If you can't speak the language of the place, then don't freaking move there. _Of course, he knew that Antonio knew English perfectly well. He also knew that Antonio was the only member of his gang that spoke Spanish. He had a French goon, a Chinese goon, a Russian goon, and a Japanese goon, but as far as he knew he didn't have any other gang members who would know what he meant when he said "Vamos!" (And Gilbert was familiar with Antonio's gang. After all, he had fought against it how many times now?) The fact was, the Jets were for people born in America, and the Sharks were for imigrants. Not that Gilbert wasn't proud of his parents, who were both born and raised in Germany, but he didn't pretend that he himself was an imigrant. In other words, he _could _speak German, but he always spoke English. It was just the way the world worked.

Officer Kirkland huffed. "Please vacate the premises," he said in flawed Spanish. Hell, it could have been perfect grammar and Gilbert wouldn't have known the difference. No, it was flawed because his British accent trying on Spanish words sounded hilarious. After they left (apparently Gilbert had been wrong about them not understanding "vamos") Lt. Jones turned to face Gilbert's gang.

"Okay, now let's be reasonable here. Okay? Okay. Now look, as great as it is to be an American, you have to understand that those people love wherever they're from, too. Even if it's not as good as America is, the important thing is, they're here now. And that's kind of like they're honorary Americans! So be nice, okay? Or else I might have to intervene. I'm not going save you if you're on the side of evil, boys. So play nice. Say goodbye to the nice boys, Arth-I mean, Officer Kirkland."

At being called by his first name, Officer Kirkland's face flushed, but he did not acknowledge it. "Goodbye, boys," he replied, and both of the men got into their squad car and drove away, the sound of the siren fading into the night.

When they left, Rod snorted derisively. "They make a very nice couple, do they not?" Everyone laughed at this. Gilbert snickered, but then put on his serious face. "Everybody! Line up! Time for examinin' the damage..in." Whatever, so it didn't rhyme. They could bite him. Suddenly, he heard a baby soft voice cry out.

"Bruder! Your ear has blood on it! Who did it to you?" Now, Vash acted more like a soldier than anyone else in the Jets, himself included. It wasn't at all surprising that he had completely blown off an injury. His motto was, "Pain is a message, and you can ignore it just like any other." Despite how he acted, Gilbert harbored a ton of respect for Vash.

"I'm a casual," he said simply, his voice a monotone.

"Oh, no! Those imigrants! They branded you!" Wow, who knew someone like Vash could be related to someone so _innocent? _Everything that happened was met with wide-eyed shock from Vash's little brother. Gilbert swore, he could be such a girl sometimes. You could have put a ribbon in his short little blonde bob, and you probably wouldn't have known the difference.

"Hey," said Gilbert, intervening "Vash, who did it to you?"

"Antonio. I heard him say, 'This is for shooting one of my _compañeros. _Who was it I shot, anyway? I've long since forgotten," he finished. Vash had not been a member of the Jets for very long, perhaps a month or two, but he had fit in almost instantly. He was quite mysterious, too. All GIlbert knew about Vash and his brother was that their parents were from the Alps. Maybe that was why he was so good with a gun. Nobody could shoot like Vash could.

Then, they heard a loud, defiant "Hey!" A scrawny girl wielding a frying pan approached them. Oh, great, it was Liz. Liz was a tomboy and, despite the fact that she probably had more 'nads than anyone else Gil knew, he just couldn't let himself have a _girl _in his gang. (Besides, she was kind of hot. Not much, but kind of. It would be awkward.)

"You're still here?" asked Rod.

"How about me getting into the gang?" she asked, her face inches away from his own. Gilbert felt his face heat up. See, this was why she couldn't join, ever. It was things like this. Gilbert coughed and turned his head away.

"There's a better chance of the gang getting into you than that ha-_ow!" _Damn, her frying pan _hurt. _He winced and rubbed his head.

"Listen. I was brilliant in that fight, Gilbert. And you know it. Why don't you let me join ? I think I could really be helpful. Not that I want to be near you, of course. Or any of your members, especially. I mean, I could technically start my own gang, but-"

"No one would join," finished Rod.

"Yes, exactly," mutterd Liz. She stared at her steel-toed boots for a while, then looked up. "Anyway, Gil, if you don't let me become a member, you're a real idiot." Perhaps it was true. He had been called an idiot before.

"The road, little lady, the road," he said. She glared at him once before spitting defiantly on the ground. She ran off after that. Of course, she would be back. She never stayed gone for long.

"Okay, guys! Now, we fought hard for this territory, am I right? Don't answer that. Of course I am. Are we going to let those imigrants take it from us? Of course not! We were here first! Now, I'm not saying they _will _take everything we've worked for. That really wouldn't be fair," he admitted, showing a breif moment of reason. "But I am saying they _might_, and damn it, I don't want to take that risk! So, what are we going to do? I will tell you. We are going to fight if it means we all end up dead!" Everyone cheered. Gilbert made a great cheerleader when the need arised.

"Then there we have it," he said, his voice carrying a touch more seriousness than it had before. "I will challenge our darling little Antonio, and that will be that. I'll do it at the dance. It's neutral ground," he said.

"Wait a minute," said Vash. "You have to take a lieutenant." Gilbert knew that he was right, and also that he was stating a fact rather than trying to hint at himself being moved up a peg. As far as he could tell, Vash didn't care about gang hierarchies, he cared about keeping himself and his brother safe.

"I will be his lieutenant," said Rod loftily. But Gilbert shook his head.

"No. We need West." He hated to say it. His response was met with groans from the other gang members. There was a time when he was a member of the Jets, but he had all but quit. Many of the members resented him; he now worked at Doc's, the local pharmacy.

"We do not," said Rod. He squinted behind his glasses and looked down his nose at Gilbert. Gilbert smirked at him and flipped him off before continuing.

"We most certainly do, my little bespectacled one. He's one hell of a better Jet than you are, that's for sure."

"Does he even want to be a Jet? If you don't mind me saying, I don't think he does." Ugh, Rod could be so annoying.

"But who wouldn't want to be a Jet?" Gilbert wasn't sure if the question was directed at him or "Big Brother Vash". He scowled at Rod.

"Listen, Rod. I do mind you saying it. He's my brother, and he's always been here for us. More to the point, he always will."

"But he hasn't been with us for over a month," insisted Rod. Thankfully, Vash spoke up in Gilbert's defense.

"What about the day we defeated the Emeralds? Which we couldn't have done without West," he said, his voice calculating. When Vash spoke, it always sounded like there was steel in his words.

"West saved my neck," said Vash Jr. in agreement. (Gilbert made a mental note to ask Vash what, exactly, the name of his little brother was when things weren't so stressful. For now, Vash Jr. would suffice. It was true, anyway. Vash's feminine little brother never dared to disagree with him as far as Gilbert could tell.)

"And there you have it! Once you're a Jet, you're always a Jet!" declared Gilbert. "Don't worry, I know him like the back of my hand. He's in. Just watch."

"In, out, I don't really care," said Rod, crossing his arms.

"You should care," said Vash. "Gilbert, where are we going to find Antonio, anyway?"

"I told you," replied Gilbert. "At the dance tonight. At the gym." When everyone stared at him, he gave them a look of mock innocence. "What? Do you think I'm up to something? Relax, I'll be a good little boy. I'm only challenging him, I won't lay a finger on him at the actual dance."

"So, everyone, dress sharp! And be there at ten," insisted Rod. Gilbert let him pretend to be the leader. It was how he coped with being outnumbered. As everyone walked away, he smiled to himself. Now he just had to convice West; no easy task, but certainly doable. He sang to nobody as he walked, his voice echoing in the streets:

_"When you're a Jet, _

_You're a Jet all the way _

_From your first cigarette _

_To your last dyin' day. _

_When you're a Jet, _

_If the spit hits the fan, _

_You got brothers around, _

_You're a family man! _

_You're never alone, _

_You're never disconnected! _

_You're home with your own: _

_When company's expected, _

_You're well protected! _

_Then you are set _

_With a capital J, _

_Which you'll never forget _

_Till they cart you away. _

_When you're a Jet, _

_You stay _

_A Jet!"_


	2. Something's Coming

Ludwig sighed to himself out of exhaustion when he heard his brother's voice, calling him by a name to which he no longer answered. He had been perfectly preoccupied, painting a sign labeled "Doc's" for the pharmacy he worked at, but now he had to answer to Gilbert, which was almost never easy or even worthwhile.

"Hey! West! What's up?" Ludwig glanced at the fresh-looking wound on his brother's face.

"If I didn't already know, I could ask you the same thing. I really wish you wouldn't fight so much, Gilbert..." He knew that asking a gang member not to fight was like asking a fish not to swim, but he always winced when he saw his brother's latest wounds.

"Oh, this?" He gently ran his fingers over the wound, grimacing slightly. "Yeah, you can thank your lovely neighborhood Spainiard for _this _little number. Speaking of, can I ask you a favor?" Oh, God. Gilbert asking 'favors' could not lead to anything good. He stopped painting the sign and faced him.

"Okay, you have my attention. What, pray tell, do you want me to do?"

Gilbert's face lit up. "I need you to come join the Jets for one last night. Just one more time. It's very important. It's for-" Ludwig interrupted him.

"No. Now go play nice with the Jets," he said, focusing his attention on his sign. No. No, no, no. There was no way in _hell _ he was going to do anything gang-related ever again. He would rather be shot, rather be killed, than have to deal with the pain and trauma that being a Jet was. Besides, lately there was this feeling that something good was going to happen, and though he couldn't explain it, he knew that _no _good could come from being a Jet.

"The Jets are awesome!" cried Gilbert.

"Were," he said, continuing to paint his sign. This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Gilbert gasped audibly.

"Were! I think not! Why, have you found something better? Are you holding out on me, West?" Ludwig sighed, and turned around again.

"I have a name, you know." 

"I take it you're not feeling the brotherly nostalgia that I am? West is your gang name! Anyway, what is it? Did you meet a girl? Is that it? Because, I have to be honest, I never thought your flag swung that way. No offense or 'nothin, I always just that-"

Before this could turn into an oh-so awkward conversation about his sexual orientation, of which he wasn't even completely sure himself, Ludwig cut him off. "It's not a girl," he said flatly. "Trust me, of all the people who might understand, you are not on the list."

"I'm hurt, West! C'mon, you can tell your awesome big brother anything!" Fine. If telling Gilbert would give him some peace and quiet..._fine. _

"Every single night for the past month or so, I've woken up, and...I feel as if I am reaching out, though to what I don't know." He exhaled deeply. "It's like that feeling, that exhiliration I used to get from being a Jet."

Gilbert didn't say anything. "Oh," he said. "You mean like, from being buddies. I see." His voice took on an unusual somber tone.

Ludwig looked at him with surprise. "We're still..." He hesitated a little at the casual term. "...'buddies'," he finished.

"Liar," said Gilbert. "Liars always hesitate. And, anyway, it's the people who give you the kick. I don't know what else to tell you." When Ludwig didn't say anything, Gilbert continued. "Come on, man! I never asked the time of day from a cuckoo-clock! I never asked anybody anything. But I'm asking you. Please, be there at the dance tonight. Just, be there. With any luck at all you won't even have to throw a punch." He laughed bitterly. "That's the plan, anyway." Now Gilbert's bright red eyes met his own. (Ludwig hated making eye contact with Gilbert for this exact reason; his eyes always creeped him out.) "You know, I already told the guys you'd be there."

What choice did he have? It was his brother. Besides, if he didn't have to fight, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Of course he was fooling himself; when Jets and Sharks were together, it would take a small miracle to keep them from fighting. Still, maybe this good thing, this good thing that had been keeping him up for over a month now...maybe it would be at the stupid dance.

"What time?"

Gilbert did a fust pump. "Yes!" He laughed, perhaps out of gratitude, that peculiar laugh of his. "Ten o'clock is what Roddy decided. That's when we're meeting, West!"

Ludwig arched an eyebrow. "Since when do you let Roderich make the decisions?" Gilbert blushed.

"Long story," he said. "Not important. So, you'll be there? Womb to tomb?"

"Birth to earth," he replied. "And I'll no doubt live to regret this."

Gilbert punched him in the arm. "Don't be such a Debbie Downer! Maybe whatever it is that's been keeping you up will be there at the dance! You never know," he said, before running off into the distance in an undignified manner.

Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, his brother was right. Maybe something good would come out of going.

He very much doubted it. Still, he harbored hope.


	3. Before the Dance

"You know," pondered Feliciano aloud, "I really don't see why I have to wear a dress to the dance." Granted, it was a beautiful dress (if a little dowdy; couldn't the hem be a little shorter?) but on the other hand, Feliciano was by no means female. Okay, so his voice was a little high-pitched, and as a child he was often mistaken for a girl, but what did that mean? If you saw a cloud and thought it was a bird, did that make it one?

His brother, Lovino, laughed sardonically. "Because, you lost the bet, remember, fratello?" Lovino was the one adjusting the dress, since he was the only one around who knew how to sew. Unfortunately, it was true; weeks earlier, Feliciano had made a bet with his brother about whether or not the play _Romeo and Juliet _ended in tragedy. In retrospect, Feliciano wasn't sure why he had thought the play ended happily, but he had, and that was how he had ended up having to wear girls' clothing to the dance.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I forgot." There was a pause, and then he spoke. "Hey, Lovino? Can you make the dress just a tiny bit shorter? I shaved my legs and everything!" After making an 'ew' face, Lovino had rolled his eyes and told him _no. _"How much can one little inch do?" whined Feliciano.

Lovino shook his head as he took in the waist. "Too much," he replied.

"But Lovino, it is a dress for dancing. Not for kneeling in front of an altar. It's so frumpy," he murmured, tugging at the edge of the dress. If he had to dress like a girl, couldn't he dress like a pretty one?

Lovino glanced up at him. "With the boys over here, you can certainly start out dancing and end up kneeling, that's for damn sure if you aren't careful." The safety pin he had stuck into his mouth made his words sounded slightly distorted, but Feliciano could still understand him perfectly. He sort of wished he hadn't been able to.

"Il miele, just one inch, un po alta-"

"Antonio made me promise."

Ah. So that was why Lovino had been so insistant on it. Whether he admitted it or not, Lovino loved Antonio to death, so if the instructions had been from him, then there truly was no hope. "Antonio? He never wants me to have any fun. Why did he even bother bringing us here? I mean, I know why he brought you here, but why me?"

"To marry Kiku," he said, "now be quiet so I can focus."

Oh, that damned Kiku. Kiku was a servant to their family, and he was as nice as could be. Feliciano often talked to him, and even though he was shy at first, he had since warmed up to him. Unfortunately, he was also his formal fiance. Feliciano was quite fond of Kiku, but he felt no romantic feelings for him whatsoever. (He also suspected that, despite all pretenses, Kiku returned his lukewarm feelings.)

"When I look at Kiku, nothing happens," said Feliciano quietly. Now Lovino, who was working on the zipper, spoke to his back.

"And just what do you expect to happen, Feliciano?"

Feliciano stared at his feet, which were jammed into tiny, uncomfortable red heels. "I don't know," he admitted. "What happens when you look at Antonio?" Though he wasn't facing him, Feliciano knew that Lovino was blushing.

"It's when I don't look at him that something happens," he replied.

"Maybe I should tell mamma e papà what you and 'Toni were doing in the balcony of the movies," he said. Okay, there was no way he was going to do that. Their parents were dead, for one thing, which was how they had ended up being taken in by Antonio. For another, they were strict Catholics, so Feliciano wouldn't have even told their urns.

"Fratello! I will rip this dress into shreds for such talk!"

"But Lovino, if you just made it a little bit shorter-"

"Next year, Feliciano."

More whining ensued. "But Lovino, next year I'll be married, and I won't even wear a dress, and if I do no one will care if I wear it down to here!" He cried, gesturing to his waist.

"Then go to the dance naked. Better yet, don't go at all. See what I care. I am only making this stupid thing to help out you, my ungrateful one. Now, if you'll be patient, I'm almost done."

Hmm, what could make the dress better besides making it shorter? Ooh! What if it was red? "Hey, Lovi, can we make it red? Can we? Can we?" He jumped a little with excitement. Red was one of his favorite colors.

"Stay still! And no, no we can not." Lovino took Feliciano's hand in his own and led him to the mirror.

"White is for babies," he cried, "and I really don't see why-" He screamed (well, squealed) with joy. The dress was still white, but a red sash was wrapped around the middle. "Oh, my goodness! It really is beautiful, Lovino. I love you so much!" He began to spin around in the dress. He could definitely see why girls wore them so much. Even if this was supposed to be embarrassing, he couldn't help feeling very pretty.

Just then, the door opened, and Antonio walked in with Kiku at his side. "Toni!" cried Feliciano. "Don't I make a pretty girl?" Antonio laughed, and Feliciano stopped spinning. Antonio kissed the top of his head.

"You are very pretty, aside from the gender confusion you are surely feeling, my little Felicia," he said. The name 'Felicia' was one Antonio called him from time to time, but paired with the dress, Feliciano felt more like a girl than he ever had before. It was sort of awkward.

"Bastard," said Lovino, "I'm the one who made the damned dress, and you have nothing to say to me?" Antonio laughed and kissed Lovino too, only on the lips and for a couple of seconds longer. "Idiot," Feliciano heard him whisper, "not in public!" Feliciano giggled lightly (they really did make a cute couple) and turned to face Kiku.

"You can come in, you know," he said politely.

"But this is a women's store," he murmured, looking at his feet. Kiku was _so _shy. Painfully shy. It nearly broke his heart to see someone so afraid of their own species.

"But these are our women, mi amigo! Come on in." His smile was infectious. Feliciano could never picture Antonio as anything but happy.

"Toni," he said, "it is very important that I have a good time at the dance," he began.

"Oh?" he asked.

"Enlighten us, you spoiled brat," added Lovino.

"Because," said Feliciano. He felt like he was about to burst with joy. "Tonight will be my first night-" He stopped himself. "Well, my first _real _night, as a true American!"


	4. Felicia

Ludwig was sure that this dance would have no doubt ended almost as soon as it had begun, if it were not for an often-ridiculed young man named Matthew. (Most people called him 'Maple Leaf', to mock his Canadian heritage. Ludwig always called him Matthew, on the few occasions he talked to him.)

It had been at the beginning of the dance. As he had promised, he had been there at ten o'clock sharp, meeting in the back with the other Jets, who for the most part sat around. Ludwig winced, almost involuntarily, when he saw the Sharks walk in, and for this reason he chose to look away. He felt horrible, if only because he knew that despite what crimes they could have comitted, they were still victims, of a gang that he wasn't quite sure he had totally cut all ties from.

Just when tensions had been about to rise between his brother and a man who he assumed was the leader of the Sharks, this cheerful Canadian had intervened. His voice was quiet and soft, and he bore an uncanny resemblance to Lt. Jones, but for whatever reason after several attempts he finally got their attention.

"Maple! Ah, all right, b-boys and girls! Attention, please! Please?" After he had been struggling for several minutes, Officer Kirkland appeared behind him. (Perhaps that had been how he had gotten some semblance of respect.) "Thank you! Ah, sure has been a lovely turnout tonight, w-wouldn't you say?" He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. From what Ludwig could tell, he was reading off of notecards. "Okay, so w-we're all here to make friends, right? So we're going to have a few get-together dances. Doesn't that sound like fun?" The instructions were for boys to gather in a circle on the outside, and girls to gather on the inside. Ludwig winced. There was no way this could end well.

"Maple!" shouted Matthew. "That's it, you've got it." His nervous sounding words were somehow less than encouraging.

What ended up happening was this: The Jets had ended up against all of the people who had come with a Shark; in other words, the dates of the Sharks, but not the Sharks themselves. Likewise, the Sharks ended up against the dates of the Jets. Ludwig observed as the apparent leader of the Sharks reached across the circle to hold hands with a short boy with dark hair. He noticed in shock as Gilbert reached for Liz's hand. (He thought it was Liz. He vaugely remembered a scrawny girl with caramel-colored hair who followed the Jets around. He was fairly certain Gilbert hated her.)

That was how the impromptu 'dance-off' had happened. It was Gil and Liz versus that one Shark boy and his date. Ludwig wasn't sure who was winning, or if there was a winner at all. Then the dancing became wild, and he excused himself. Dancing was really not his thing.

That was when he had seen him-'him' being a peculiar looking boy wearing a dress. At first he had thought it was that boy from earlier, the short one involved in the dancing contest, but no, he had seemed too angry. This little crossdressing boy had to be different. He decided to talk to him, even though normally he wouldn't feel particuarly drawn to a male wearing a dress.

"Hello," he said, his voice sounding stiffer than it usually did. "Are you wearing a dress?" Okay, that was a stupid question.

The boy giggled. "Yep! I lost a bet. But don't I look pretty?" The sad thing was, he did look pretty. That was...confusing. He decided to go the deadpan route.

"Yes," he said flatly. "You look very pretty." He paused. "So, what's your name, anyway?"

"My name is Feliciano, but sometimes people call me Felicia, although that's usually only Toni and I'd feel a lot better if you didn't call me that while I'm in a dress." Well, all right then. He spoke incredibly fast and didn't hold eye contact. "So, mysterious stranger, do you have a name, too?"

The peculiar thing was, Ludwig could have sworn that he was flirting with him. When he looked at the way other people interacted, he could instantly tell the intentions of both people. It was just one of many odd, useless little skills that he had. But this strange little boy dressed like a girl seemed different. He couldn't tell _what _he was thinking. Strangest of all, he sort of liked it.

"Ludwig," he said finally. "That's my name."

"Pretty name," he commented. There was a long, awkward pause. '_Why can't I think of anything to say? I must look so stupid,' _he thought. Finally, Ludwig spoke, if only to break the tension.

"Do you think that I am someone else?"

In the dim of the flashing lights, it was hard to tell, but it looked like his face was slightly pinker. He looked away for a second, but then he turned to face him, this time meeting eye contact. "I know you're not," he said, finally. It was odd; when Ludwig had spoken, he had done so out of a drastic need to say something, not out of a desire to communicate anything, and yet it seemed as if this perfect stranger understood him beyond the level on which he even understood himself.

"A-and, you didn't think that we've met previously?"

He still held his eye contact. "I know we haven't," he replied. By this point he was _pretty _sure they were flirting, but not sure enough. Was there a manual you could read? Were there signs? He felt his heartbeat, loud and impatient, in his ears.

"You know," he began, "for about a month now-" _Why was he telling a total stranger his most personal thoughts? _"For about a month now, I've woken up, feeling like something amazing was going to happen, though what I was not sure. But this-"

"My hands are cold," said Feliciano. Well, what was he supposed to do about it? Because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and the drumming in his ears grew faster, he took his hands in his own. Feliciano frowned.

"So are yours," he said. Okay, well at least the problem wasn't with what he had done. (He still didn't know what, exactly, had prompted him to do that.) He was just about to ask him something along the lines of, "If my hands are too cold for you then what else am I supposed to do?" when he felt his hands on his face. "Your face is so warm," he said.

Well, of course. That was probably because he had been furiously blushing since the conversation's beginning. He was incredibly thankful for the shabby lighting that dance parties provided. He felt Feliciano take his hand and put it on his cheek. "Your face is warm too," he said. Why was his voice shaky? Why couldn't he talk correctly? What was it about this stranger in a dress that reduced him to near handicap?

"Of course," he heard Feliciano whisper. "After all, they're the same." He wasn't sure what it was that was so magical about standing in the corner, almost randomly touching the face of another boy. And yet, it wasn't random. Something about their meeting seemed almost like fate, although he did not believe in such things.

"It's so hard to believe that this isn't just a joke," he said. Feliciano laughed, a twinkly little laugh that somehow reminded him of champagne bubbles.

"I have not yet learned how to joke like that," he said. It hadn't occured to Ludwig that English might be Feliciano's second language. "Now I don't think I want to." He briefly broke eye contact, staring at his shoes, but then he held it again. "I don't think I ever will."

Something peculiar was happening; it seemed that despite his firmly held beliefs that he was asexual, not attracted to either gender, every thought in his mind screamed at him, to kiss him. What was especially odd was that his voice of reason, his inner voice telling him of rejection and ridicule and other such things, was quiet. He was about to really do it, he had even closed his eyes, but then the lights came on, the music stopped, and someone screaming in Spanish brought him out of his daze.

Feliciano started crying, uttering apologies in both Spanish in Italian. His alternating between 'Lo siento' and 'Mi dispiace' was heartbreaking.

"Stay away from him, American. He is like a little brother to me, do you understand that? I don't want you to lay a finger on him!" At this, Gilbert stepped up, while the man spoke to Feliciano.

"Couldn't you see he was one of _them_?"

"No, Antonio! I don't understand what you mean! All I saw was him, that's all I saw, Antonio, that's all I saw!" He spoke through his tears, and sobbed through many of his words. Ludwig had the inexplicable urge to go and comfort him, but knew that he couldn't.

"I told you, little Felicia. There is only one thing boys like that want from a little immigrant. You have to be careful. They'll-" Ludwig couldn't help but interrupt.

"That's a lie! I would never do anything to hurt him." He felt Gilbert pull him back, while muttering into his ear. 

"Cool it, champ," said Gilbert. A Japanese boy was glaring daggers into him.

"Get away," he said, his voice cool and calculating. Right now, he wasn't important. He had to talk to Feliciano, had to tell him that he was different, had to convince him that he wasn't as cruel as everyone made him out to be.

"Don't listen to them," he shouted, as loud as he could. Feliciano stopped crying and smiled weakly at him, but Antonio got between them.

"He will listen to his family before-," he began, but at the same time, Gilbert had began to speak.

"If you guys want to settle this n-" They were both interrupted by Matthew.

"Maple! Please! Everything was going so well, friends! Come on, let's, let's be friends, eh? It won't hurt you to have a good time, will it?" The lights dimmed again, the music boomed, but the Jets and the Sharks were at seperate sides of the room. Ludwig was close enough that he could hear Antonio talking to Feliciano, so he listened.

"I warned you Felicia, I warned you that such a thing might happen," he said, only for the Japanese boy from earlier to interrupt him.

"Don't yell at him, Toni, it's not his fault."

"You yell at babies," said Antonio simply.

"Only to put ideas into the baby's head."

"Take him home, Kiku." He heard Feliciano beg to stay.

"Please, Toni! It's my first dance!" His voice still sounded shaky from when he had been crying.

"We are all familia. Please. Go," he said, so softly that Ludwig could scarcely hear what he had said. He watched as Feliciano left with Kiku.

"So, I guess you're with us for sure, right bro?" Gilbert's words went through one ear and out the other. If it was possible, he cared less about being a Jet than he ever had before. He continued to watch, despite himself, as Kiku put his elbow through Feliciano's. At the last second, without Kiku noticing, he turned around, staring right into his eyes just as he had before.

Just then, he noticed that Gilbert was standing right in front of him. Apparently, Antonio had been trying to cross over to him.

"I don't want you. Please pass, mi amigo," said Antonio, his voice quiet but serious.

"Yeah? Well, that's too dang bad. Because you may not want me, but I sure want you. For a war council. Doesn't that sound nice? Jets and Sharks? I do hope you'll make it." He could only see the back of Gilbert's head, but he knew that he was probably smirking at Antonio.

"I would be honored," said Antonio. Of course. He didn't strike him as the type who would turn down a challenge, and that was obviously what this was.

"Okay! Let's go outside!" Oh, no. Of course Gilbert was going to get himself killed, on tonight of all nights.

"I would hate to leave the ladies alone. We will meet you in thirty minutes," said Antonio. Despite the circumstances, his voice carried a professional tone.

"Doc's drugstore?"

"Yes," replied Antonio simply, before walking away.

"Alright!" said Gilbert. "West, let's go spread the word!" But Ludwig had already walked away. He heard Gilbert's voice echo in the distance as he left the gymnasium.

He had to find him. He wasn't sure why the need was growing inside of him, but it was. And so he left, walking to anywhere that wasn't here. The name 'Feliciano' was stuck inside of his head. If only it had a tune.


	5. Tonight

Feliciano sat in his room. _'I probably should have changed out of this dress a while ago,' _he thought to himself, but in truth he had no desire to do so. It made him feel pretty. _'Ludwig said I looked pretty in it,' _he remembered, laughing somewhat bittersweetly. For one, he was pretty sure he had been using sarcasm. Still, he felt a mixture of sadness and bubbliness at the memory.

Suddenly, he heard a voice call his name. Was it really him? It sounded like him. He walked over to his window. Indeed, standing there on the street was Ludwig.

"Feliciano!" There it was again. He felt like he was about to burst with happiness, but suddenly, he remembered Antonio.

"Ludwig! I can't believe you're here, but please, for your safety...please, keep your voice down."

"Come down," he said. Feliciano paled at the thought.

"No," he said timidly, "no, I am afraid I cannot do that, Ludwig. See, I would get in a lot of trouble if I did that, and we don't want trouble, do we?" Confrontation made him so nervous.

"Please," Ludwig said, "I need you to come down." It broke his heart to keep having to tell him _no_, and more than anything he wanted to fly out of his window and join him at ground level.

"If Antonio-" he began, but Ludwig interrupted him.

"Antonio is at the dance. You can come down. I promise you, it is safe."

Feliciano looked both ways, and at the door, as if Antonio was suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. _Lovino_. Also a problem. "He'll bring Lovino home sooner or later," he said. "Probably sooner," he added.

"Just for a minute," he insisted. Feliciano smiled. He didn't want a minute, he wanted forever. A minute was a tease. A minute was a preview. A minute was not nearly enough.

"A minute's too short," he said, beaming. Ludwig smiled, too. A small, hint of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"An hour, then," he said. Feliciano laughed.

"I cannot," he said, "and you know it." Ludwig appeared to think about this, but then he answered.

"Forever, if you must." Feliciano gasped, but quickly remembered the danger of the situation they were in. He shushed Ludwig, quietly. "Then I'll come up to you," he said simply, and began to do exactly that. Just then, Feliciano heard someone else call his name. It was his grandfather's.

"Attimo, nonno!" he called back. "Stai zitto!" he whispered to Ludwig, who was muttering his name under his breath as he climbed up. He held out his hand to stop him from climbing up any further. "It's too dangerous," he said, leaning as far out of his window as he could without falling so he could reach Ludwig's ear.

He felt Ludwig grab his shoulder. "I am not 'one of them'," he whispered back.

"You are," said Feliciano back to him, helping him up so he could sit on the edge of his window. "Just as I am one of them," he said, gesturing to his apartment. Feliciano kneeled down next to him at the windowsill.

At first, Ludwig looked away from him, staring down at the ground where he had just been standing, but then he faced him again. "To me, you are different. You are-" Feliciano really hated to interrupt (he _really _hated to interrupt him, since just the sound of his voice somehow made his heart beat faster) but he heard his grandfather shouting. He put his hand over Ludwig's mouth.

"Feli!" called his grandfather. Feliciano winced, and answered back.

"Sí, vengo, nonno!" Ludwig looked at him.

"Feli?" he asked.

Feliciano shrugged. "It's his pet name for me. Just like how Antonio calls me Felicia."

Ludwig nodded. "I like him. I think he would like me, if we were to meet."

"No," said Feliciano sadly, "he is just like Antonio. He's afraid." He laughed again. "I can't imagine anyone being afaid of you, though!" he said, sitting down on the ledge beside him, hugging his arm while his legs dangled on the outside of the building.

"Do you see?" he asked. Feliciano wasn't sure what he meant, so he responded in the only way he could think to do so.

"I see you," he said simply. He pressed his hand against the side of his face again. His face was so warm. Maybe that was why it was so red all of the time. They sat there for a while, not really saying anything. Being next to him made him feel safe, though for what reason he was unsure.

"Feli!" called his grandfather again, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Wait for me!" Feliciano called back. He gave Ludwig's arm one last squeeze before carefully stepping back inside. "I cannot stay. Go quickly," he whispered quickly in Ludwig's ear.

"I'm not afraid," he said quietly. Of course he wasn't. Ludwig struck Feliciano as the kind of person who was never afraid of anything. _'My opposite,' _he thought to himself. Still, he had to consider his family. They were always so hard on him. He was the baby, so everyone always assumed that he was stupid, useless, always needing protection.

"Please," he whispered again, so softly he couldn't even hear his own voice. "They're strict with me." Ludwig paused, and then, for a second, Feliciano felt his lips against his own.

"Good night," he said quickly, tripping over his words again. Feliciano felt his face grow warm, but he didn't care.

"Buona notte!" he called after him. As Ludwig climbed down, Feliciano thought of something. "Wait! When will I see you again?"

He looked up at him. "Tomorrow," he said.

Feliciano beamed again. "I work at the bridal shop! Go in through the back door, okay? Be there at sundown. It will be safe," he said. As he climbed down, Feliciano called into the night, "Adoro!" Sure, he wouldn't likely know what it meant. It was okay; he had said it, and he felt like his heart would burst with joy.

"Good night, good night," he called back, softly. "Sleep well," he said. He was almost on the ground now.

Feliciano sighed with relief as he snuck into the darkness. It was just in time, too; he could see Antonio and Lovino walking up to their building. Still, he smiled to himself as he sat alone in his room. Despite the danger of the situation he found himself in, he found himself happier than he had been in a long time.

**(Super fun translations...because I overuse Italian in this particular chapter:**

**Attimo, nanno = A moment, Grandpa**

**Stai zitto = Be quiet/shut up**

**Si, vengo, nanno = I'm coming, Grandpa**

**Buona notte = Good night**

**Adoro = I love you**

**Please, please let me know if I butchered any of these. I do know some Spanish, but my Italian is strenuous at best "^^)**


	6. America

Lovino held Antonio's hand as they approached their apartment. There was Feliciano, with a big dopey grin on his face. Still wearing that dress. He could have taken it off long ago, but that was the thing with him; he probably enjoyed it. Lovino couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Felicia?" called Antonio. Lovino raised an eyebrow at him.

"Our grandfather's in there, too, you know. He's the one who's raised us," he said matter-of-factly. Antonio smiled dimly; or brightly, they were one and the same with Antonio despite how impossible that could seem.

"But he does not know this country any better than Feliciano does," he said. As correct as he might have been, Lovino found himself getting annoyed with Antonio. (Of course, he was always annoyed with him to a certain extent.)

"Antonio! Don't act like you know everything. Perhaps it's a shock to you, but here, people are actually allowed to have fun! Your overprotectiveness of him sickens me. He's not even your brother. He's mine." He crossed his arms, scowling at Antonio. He could be _so _annoying.

"My little Lovi," he began, but Lovino interrupted him.

"Actually, it's just Lovino now." He hated when Antonio treated him this way, like he was still a child. In point of fact, he could take care of himself. He could dump Antonio, and then where would he be? Of course, he would never do that. But he could if he wanted to.

"Hey, Lovi, if we got married, your name would be Lovino Hernandez Carriedo Vargas," Antonio said cheerfully. Where the hell did _that _come from? Was he just trying to suck up to him? Well, he wasn't falling for it.

"Immigrant," he spat at him. Okay, so he was an immigrant too, but the word seemed to fit Antonio better. But Antonio just laughed, pulling him in close and patting his head.

"Thank God, you can't change your hair," he said, running his fingers through it. _Oh, God. _Really? He had to pull this kind of crap in public? Granted, they were just outside of their apartment building, but _still. _Lovino twitched and struggled to get out of his grasp, uttering profanities as Antonio continued to _molest _him in front of the entire world. Lovino supposed that there were some people who would never know what the combination of hate and love felt like. In a way, he pitied them; he felt it with every tug of his hair that Antonio chose to exploit.

"Is that even possible?" asked Ivan, one of Antonio's gang members. Lovino noticed as he fondled Yao's ponytail in his hands, much to the latter one's apparent disapproval.

"Everything is real in the United States, aru," he mumbled, clutching his Hello Kitty backpack tightly. He had to be the most girly gang member in the entire West Coast.

As they walked inside, Antonio continued to hug Lovino and touch his head until he glanced at Kiku. Letting go, he turned to face him. "How was Felicia when you took him home?"

Kiku looked back at him. "He was fine. Antonio-sama, if you'll forgive me for saying, he was only dancing."

"With an 'American'," he said, making finger quotes in the air. "Who's really a German," he added. Lovino smirked at him.

"Says the Spaniard," he said. Antonio just laughed. It seemed like nothing could offend him; or at least not when he said it.

"Oh, you are so cute," he said, giving him a suffocating hug.

"You knowwho _is _cute?" asked Francis, another gang member. Lovino could only guess. Francis's definition of 'cute' could include men, women, and everything in between. Without waiting for a response, he spoke. "That German boy who was with little Feli. And from what I hear, he works."

Kiku frowned slightly. "As a delivery boy."

Lovino glanced at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, and what are you again? I seem to have forgotten." It wasn't even that Lovino cared to defend the German boy harrassing his little brother, far from it; it was more so that he felt the need to put his boyfriend and his cronies in their place. Someone needed to.

"I am an assistant," said Kiku simply.

"Sí! And yet, Kiku here probably makes half of what that German makes. Just because he was born in America makes him American. Never mind that his parents were immigrants, just like us." He sighed sadly. "No, that doesn't seem to matter here. Here, if you're a foreigner, you're worth less than dirt," he muttered.

"Parasites," said Ivan and Yao at the same time. "That's all we amount to, aru," added Yao sadly.

"Cockroaches," said Lovino, laughing as he said it. Sure, it was true, but he really didn't care. It was the same in Italy. Italians only talked to other Italians, so why would Americans be any different? No place was perfect.

"It's a simple fact," said Antonio. "I remember when your grandfather wanted you and your brother to move here, but you didn't have the money. I was headed that way, too, from Spain. Did any of us ever think of going back?"

Lovino glanced at him. "Don't be stupid," he said. "We came ready, eager." And it was true. Hell, when he had first arrived in America, he had been nearly as idealistic as his brother. Nearly. "With our hearts open," he added, in a mocking tone.

"Our arms open," said Yao in a dreamy tone. Of course, he had arrived from China, not Spain or Italy, but before that he had been to Russia, which was where he had met Ivan.

"You came here with your pants open, da?" said Ivan, smiling broadly at Yao.

"Aiyah! You did, you swine!" said Yao in a fit of rage, hitting him repeatedly with his Hello Kitty backpack. "You'll go back to Mother Russia in handcuffs!"

"You'll be right there with me," he said, still smiling. No matter what, Ivan never frowned. Lovino found it creepy. He found Ivan creepy. Antonio grinned broadly.

"I am going back in a Cadillac!" Then he sighed. "But that is neither here nor there. Come on, Lovino," he said, grabbing his arm.

"Come on," said Lovino back, mimicking his tone.

"Well, are you coming with me, or no?"

Ugh. Lovino hated when Antonio got like this. He couldn't believe that he was going to choose the stupid war council over him. He had always supported Antonio, even when doing so was incredibly stupid, so now some fight with a bunch of white kids took priority?

"I would hate to intervene. You have your big, important war council. Well, you have to make a choice, Antonio. Me or the council?"

Antonio, clueless as ever, smiled and kissed Lovino on the top of his head. "First one, then the other," he said.

"I will not wait for you!" said Lovino, his voice full of anger. It was so annoying, having to deal with this new, self-righteous Antonio. When he had first met Antonio, he had been perfectly beautiful, and sweet, and kind. Okay, and a little stupid, but he never acted like this. Like he was _better. _

Softly, he spoke to Kiku. "I don't understand. Back home, he was never like this." Well. That did it.

"Back home, little boys didn't go to freaking war councils!" He wanted to scream out all of the dirtiest curse words he knew at the top of his lungs, but he restrained himself.

"Well, you keep telling me to act like an American, no? I'll see you later, mi querido." To his cronies, he spoke. "Vámonos, chicos, es tarde." Though none of them spoke Spanish, they still followed him as he left out the door.

_'Oh, Antonio,' _he thought to himself. _'I hope you know what you're doing.' _

**(More translations. Because I overuse Spanish in this chapter:**

**Mi quierido = My darling, my love, etc.**

**Vámonos, chicos, es tarde = Let's go, boys, it's late.)**


	7. Cool

"Where are they? Is this or is it not a war council? We can't very well have a war council without the other side." Rod's voice was cool, but there was venom in his words. Lili shrank into the comic book she was reading. Reading about Superman always calmed her down in a world she was quite afraid of. She watched as Vash played solitare. They weren't the only ones not really doing anything. Liz was standing by the jukebox, and all Rod was doing was shouting.

"Superman doesn't use knives," she said quietly. "He doesn't even use an atomic ray-gun." Vash gave her a tiny smile.

"Superman? I love Superman," he said.

"Then why don't you marry him?" snapped Rod. He was probably only tense because the Sharks had yet to show up, and because 'West' was also gone. Even Gilbert wasn't there. Still, she thought he was being quite rude.

"I won't ever get married," said Liz. "Too noisy." Rod gave her one of his rare smiles, though it wasn't a nice one.

"You won't ever get married because no one would want to marry you," he said. He paused and threw a dart at the dartboard. "Ever," he finished. Liz just smirked at him and made her gloved hand into the shape of a gun.

"Pow, pow," she said. "Man up, or I'll hit you with my frying pan."

"Oh no, I'm dead," he said in a monotone voice. Just then, the door opened loudly. Lili jumped, but it was only Gilbert. She gave him a tiny smile, and went back to her comic book.

"What on earth is wrong with you? You could have opened the door with a bit more care," said Rod, who also looked alarm. Gilbert shrugged.

"I got caught sneaking out of the movies." Vash arched an eyebrow at him.

"Why would you sneak _out _of the movie theater? What is the point of that?" As if this was exactly what he had been waiting for, Gilbert responded without missing a beat.

"I sneaked in." He glanced at the bird that now sat on his head. "Also, this bird sat on my head and refused to leave. I got in trouble for having him, too." He paused. "Or her, but I refuse to check. I think it's a guy, though. If you hear him chirp, you'll know. Damn bird sounds manlier than half of you." He squinted up, trying to see the top of his head. "I think I'll name it Gilbird," he muttered.

"Wow, Gilbert, there's a war council coming up and you're going to movies and naming birds after yourself? Good job," said Liz sarcastically. Before Gilbert could say anything, 'Doc' walked in. Doc, who was probably the furthest thing from a real doctor you could find, had no side in the gang battles and merely focused on his ponies and keeping his hair 'faboo'. His real name was next to impossible to pronounce, so most people called him Doc.

"Like, hi guys!" He frowned slightly in Liz's direction. "And girl," he added. He met Lili's eyes. "Uh, shouldn't you be in bed? Like, you're totally way too young to be up this late, Lili!"

Gilbert's eyes widened in shock. "I thought you were a boy! What the heck!" He turned to Vash. "I thought that this was your little brother! I didn't know she was your _sister._"

Vash frowned at him. "You didn't know the name 'Lili' was feminine?"

"I didn't know her name!"

While they argued, Lili smiled at Doc. "We're having a war council here, sir!" she exclaimed.

Doc's face clouded over in confusion. "Uh, who?" he asked dimly.

"We're deciding on weapons for the fight with the Sharks," said Vash calmly.

"Uh, you guys are so weird! Like, couldn't you play basketball like normal kids?"

Gilbert turned to face Doc. "Hey, by any chance have you seen West around? Doc ran his fingers through his hair and squinted, his mouth open slightly. He made an 'uh' noise for about a minute before answering.

"Like, no! He is totally not here, man. It's, like, closing time? Yeah," he said, turning around to leave. Rod turned to face Gilbert.

"What do you think the Sharks will want to fight with?"

Gilbert shrugged. "How should I know? Rubber hoses?" Just then, Lili heard a noise, and looked up to see the Sharks. She stood up and walked over to where Vash was. She watched as Liz gave Gilbert a pleading look.

"Come on, you have to let me stay. You let her stay," she said, gesturing to Lili. Lili felt her face go red. She really was in an awkward position.

"That's only because she's Vash's little br-sister. Now, leave." Liz complied, but pushed past the Sharks angrily, brandishing her frying pan and muttering profanities at them.

Antonio was a tall man, with tan skin, brown hair, and green eyes. His face seemed friendly, but she had been told enough times from Vash to never trust him, regardless of how sunny his face was. She tried not to shake. Already, she was seen as a coward, and she wanted to hold her own. When his eyes met hers, she looked away, staring at Vash's dark gray combat boots.

"Let's get down to business," he said, seriously but somehow with more cheeriness than the situation really called for. Gilbert gave him his most smart-alecky smirk.

"Apparently Antonio hasn't learned the procedures of precious living. He won't even stop for a soda. I could get him and his nice young boys some soda pops, but _no_, they don't want to play nice at all." Antonio frowned slightly.

"Look, you don't like me, and to be honest, I can't say I like you very much, either. So we should just be as professional as possible, no?"

"Fine, fine. Let's be 'professional'." Gilbert cleared his throat. "I, Gilbert Beilschmidt, and my lovely little gang would like to challenge you, Antonio Assface, or whatever the hell your name is, and _your _lovely little gang, to a brawl."

"On what terms?" Lili couldn't help but admire him for not smacking Gilbert across the face. She almost wanted to herself, and she was on his side.

"You tell me, buddy boy. You've crossed the line once too often," snarled Gilbert.

"You started it," replied Antonio cooly. Gilbert snorted.

"Please! Who jumped Roddy the other day?"

"Who jumped me the first day I moved here?"

"Hey! Here's a thought! Who asked you to move here?"

Lili gasped. She didn't particuarly like the Sharks (though she didn't know much about them, as Vash usually wouldn't tell her the details) but she thought that Gilbert's comment was quite rude and, honestly, a little racist. She stood a little closer to Vash, but continued to stay quiet.

"And who asked you what you thought?" replied Antonio.

To Lili's surprise, Rod intervened. "Well, nobody asked what you thought either, you filthy Spaniard."

"We accept your challenge," said Antonio. "What time?"

Gilbert just grinned. "Tomorrow. By the river, the one under the highway." Lili watched quietly as they shook hands. "Hey, by the way, what weapons are we using, exactly?"

As if it were no big deal, Antonio shrugged. "Your challenge." After that, they both named possible weapons back and forth: sticks, rocks, poles, cans, bricks, bats, clubs, and all of the rest until they were silenced by an outside shout.

"Bottles!" Everyone stared. It was West! (Lili wondered if he had a real name. She decided he didn't.)

"Knives, guns," he went on. "What a coop full of chickens. I am ashamed to call all of you my former brothers," he said. Antonio raised an eyebrow.

"Every dog knows his own," he said calmly. But West just shook his head.

"I'm talking to all of you. It sickens me how you all have to fight this way. With weapons. Are you afraid to fight without weapons, the honorable way? Is that what I'm hearing?" His voice was cold, but unlike the previous coldness in the room, it was loud. This coldness pierced your eardrums. You couldn't block it out by thinking as hard as you could about being swept away by Superman.

"Why don't you just have the best man from each gang fight? Wouldn't that be more efficent? Or is it fear that I smell in the air?" The only thing Lili couldn't understand was why West was egging everyone on. Normally he seemed so sensible. It was like he was everything Gilbert was not, but now his words could have just as easily been Gilbert's.

Antonio looked West right in the eyes. "I will look forward to that," he said.

"What?" said one of Antonio's gang members. He was tall, with purple eyes. He wasn't looking at her, which was good, because she felt like she would easily melt under his gaze. She wasn't sure who scared her the most.

"No!" exclaimed Rod at the same time. But Gilbert shook his head.

"Commanders decide. What do you say, Antonio? Fair fight?" Antonio nodded, and they shook hands again. Antonio continued to stare right into West's eyes. Lili wasn't sure why. If there was anyone who wouldn't be fighting, it was probably him.

"When I am finished with you, you will look like a fish after it has the skin removed," he said coldly.

"Your best man fights our best man-and we pick him," said Gilbert, slapping a hand on Vash's shoulder. _No. Not Vash. Anyone but Vash. _

"But I thought it would be-"

"Hey, we shook on it, did we not, amigo?" Gilbert smirked yet again, while Antonio sighed.

"Yes," he said, "we shook on it." Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked Lt. Jones. Lili shuddered. Lt. Jones was probably one of the scariest men alive. Then again, she was surrounded by scary men, wasn't she.

"Good evening, Lt. Jones," said Rod, formally and politely. "Ludwig and I were just closing up." Ludwig? Was that West? So he did have a name. From the way Gilbert talked, you certainly wouldn't know it.

The Sharks all headed towards the exit. Lili couldn't say she blamed them; Lt. Jones was not the kind of person she would voluntarily choose to be around. And if she saw him in a back alley...she shuddered at the thought. When they all left, he began to egg Gilbert for information.

"Hey! Dudes! So, guess what? I am totally on your side! Like, if you can just tell me where to meet up with you, I'll even help you fight! I mean, I know that cops probably shouldn't get involved, but, like, you guys totally defend truth, justice, and the American way! So, where are you fighting?"

Lili could swear she heard crickets chirp.

"Oh. Fine. I see how it is. Fine, you don't want my help? Okay, I got you. But I will find your little battle. And if you don't want the hero's help, then...well, it doesn't matter, because heroes help no matter what!" He stormed out of the building. Lili was happy to see him leave.

Gilbert looked around. "Well, I guess I'll see you all tomorrow. Vash and Rod, I need to talk to you guys, come with me." Vash looked back at Lili. "I'll be fine, Bruder," she said politely. Of course she would run to catch up with him once they were done. In the meantime, she was probably fine with Ludwig, or West, or whatever he wanted to be called. Just as she was getting her coat, she heard him talk with Doc. Oh, was he still here?

"Wow, like, what are you _on _tonight? Seriously, I want some. What have you been taking?"

"Let's call it, a trip to the moon." He smiled before heading towards the exit. Lili hurried to catch up with him, though quietly. She felt a little like she was eavesdropping. Maybe she was.

"Buona notte, signore," he said to him.

"Like, buona notte? So that's why you made it a fair fight! Oh my God, that makes, like, so much sense!"

"Doctor? May I tell you a secret?"

"Like, oh my God! I love secrets! You can totally tell me anything!"

He hesitated, but then spoke. "I think I may be in love." Love? With who? Lili tried very hard to keep from squealing. Love! It was so exciting!

"How do you know?"

There was a long pause. "I don't think there's any way I could feel.'

"Oh, wow! Aren't you afraid?"

"Why would I be?"

"Hmm, I suppose that's true. Man, like, I'm scared enough for the both of you!" Ludwig/West left out of the door, and Lili hurried behind him, hoping to see Vash somewhere around the corner. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to him. Blink out of existence, most likely. She pulled her coat around her tighter and was the last one to run out the door.


	8. One Hand, One Heart

Feliciano sat with Lovino in the bridal store. Lovino was working on a veil, while Feliciano ushered a customer out of the door. He sighed in relief when the woman was gone. (She had been particuarly rude to both of them.)

"Finally!" Lovino cried. "Finally, that old bag of a strega is gone!" Feliciano laughed, and smiled at his brother.

"Bravo!" he cried, clapping his hands. They were both giddy; for one, it was nearing closing time, which always put them in a good mood. And, for another, Ludwig was coming, and every time Feliciano thought of it, it sent a tingle down his spine.

"The day is over, the jail is open, home I go," sang Lovino. He got up to leave, but stopped when he saw that Feliciano wasn't coming.

"You go on ahead, fratello. I can close up. I'm in no hurry at all," he trilled, dancing around the store in an undignified manner. Lovino looked suspicious, but said nothing about it.

"I am. I'm going to take a bubble bath all during supper: Black Orchid." He sighed, smiling to himself. Feliciano knew that one of the few ways Lovino could relax was with a bubble bath.

"You're not going to eat?"

"After the rumble with 'Toni," he said. Oh. The rumble. Just the thought of it made Feliciano sick to his stomach. He frowned.

"Why do they have to have a rumble in the first place, Lovino?" Lovino sighed, rubbing his temples.

"It's like this. Have you seen the way they dance? Like they all have something pent up inside of them, desperate to crawl out? Like they have to get rid of something? It's the same way when they fight. I don't know why they do it. You and I don't have the problems they do. But for whatever reason, they need to fight, so they do."

"Oh," said Feliciano. "But what is it they have to get rid of?" Lovino sighed again.

"Too much feeling." He shook his head, but then he smiled. "And they do get rid of it. After a fight, Antonio is so.._healthy.._hm.." He muttered to himself some more, still smiling. "Yes, definitely Black Orchard for me," he said finally.

"Buona notte," said a voice, followed by a knock at the door. Lovino gave Feliciano a _look_, and smiled sarcastically.

"You go on ahead, fratello. I can close up. I'm in no hurry at all," he mimicked. "It all becomes clear." He glanced at Ludwig, who had entered through the back door. "By the way, it's too early for 'buona notte'. You're looking for 'buon pomeriggio'."

He nodded. "Grazie. Buon pomeriggio," he said. Feliciano giggled lightly. It was so interesting to hear him speaking Italian. It didn't seem to fit, but in a weird way, it did. He glanced at Lovino.

"D-don't fret, Lovino! He is only here to deliver aspirin!" Lovino shook his head.

"In that case, can I have some? I think I might need it. More to the point, you might need it."

"No, we're out of the world," chirped Feliciano. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"You're out of your minds, more like."

"We're twelve feet in the air!" exclaimed Feliciano. He paused. "Um, but Lovino, you won't tell, will you?"

Lovino arched his eyebrows. "Tell what? What's there to tell?" He snorted, while muttering to himself. "I can't very well hear what goes on twelve feet over my head, can I now?" Then, before leaving, he spoke one last thing aloud. "Fifteen minutes, fratello. You have fifteen minutes to get home." Then, the door shut.

"I don't think he likes me," said Ludwig. Feliciano frowned.

"No, no, he likes you. He likes us, it's just..he's very worried, that's all." He laughed a little. "But I don't see why. We have something special, although I don't know what."

"Magic?" he suggested. Feliciano beamed. It was perfect. He sighed, though, remembering the rumble.

"But magic is also evil and black. Are you going to the rumble tonight?"

Ludwig shook his head vehemently. "No, it is not my intention to be there." But Feliciano shook his head, too. He _needed _to be there. Who else would stop it? No, he had to go, as much as it pained him to admit it. He didn't want Ludwig to go, but what other option was there? Someone had to stop it.

"I think you should go," he said, softly.

"What? But why?" asked Ludwig. Clearly he was shocked. Feliciano didn't blame him. And, if it was a perfect world, he wouldn't have to go at all. But, then, if it was a perfect world, there wouldn't have been a fight. If it was a perfect world, they wouldn't have to sneak around to see each other, would they.

"Because, if you aren't there, who's going to stop it?"

Ludwig protested. "I've stopped it as much as I can. They aren't using weapons now. Antonio won't get-" Feliciano interrupted.

"Any fight is not good for us," he said, now looking down at the floor. He sat down in the chair where Lovino had been sewing the wedding veil earlier. He picked it up and put it on his head. He didn't feel as pretty as he had the night of the dance, but it was a start. He smiled softly at himself in a nearby hand mirror, trying to forget about everything that had ever made him sad.

Ludwig pulled up another chair and sat down next to him. "Everything is good for us and we are good for everything," he said, smiling; only breifly, but smiling nonetheless. But Feliciano shook his head.

"You have to be there," he said. He was prepared for an argument, much as the prospect hurt him, because in all fairness if it had been him, he would certainly be reluctant as well.

Ludwig sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Then I will," he said. Feliciano felt his face light up.

"Really? You'll do it? Can you?" He wanted to laugh; no, he wanted to scream. This was such great news! 

"If you don't even want a fair fight, there won't be a fight at all. You have my word," he said. Feliciano grinned.

"I believe you," he said.

After a long pause, Ludwig cleared his throat and spoke. "Ah, so should I come to pick you tonight?"

"No, my grandfather-"

There was another pause. This one seemed awkward. "I can take you to my house," he suggested.

"What about your mother?" he asked.

"My mother is d-" Ludwig started a sentence, but shook his head. "She's gone right now," he said after a second. Feliciano's eyes softened. He wondered if 'dead' had been the word he had been about to say.

"If she were here," he began, "she would run into the kitchen with open arms." He stood up pulled a mannequin from behind him. The mannequin was wearing a beautiful pink dress that sparkled down to the hem. It was a 'prom queen' dress. If memory served, Francis had designed it. Feliciano giggled.

"She'd really be that well dressed?"

"I would have told her you were coming. She was-can be very judgemental. Very judgemental. But she would look at you and try to frown and say, "Skinny, but cute."

Feliciano smiled. "And is your mother skinny-but-cute?"

Ludwig laughed. "No, not by any means." He took the waist of the dress and held it out.

"I take after my mother's side of the family. Small and delicate boned." Feliciano smiled and hugged Ludwig. There was no real reason; he was just giddy, and when he was happy, he was prone to random displays of affection. He felt Ludwig's hand at the base of his neck. When he kissed him, Feliciano couldn't help but giggle afterwards. "Not in front of Mama!" he exclaimed. Ludwig turned the mannequin away from them, and kissed him again. It made Feliciano care a little less about him having to stand on his tiptoes so he could wrap his arms around his neck.

"May I have your son's hand in marriage, Mr. Vargas?" Ludwig was talking to a nearby male mannequin, who was wearing a tuxedo. "I am taking your silence as a 'yes'. Thank you very much, sir." Feliciano grinned and arranged the others in a way that made them look like the spectators at a wedding. Ludwig pointed to one that was wearing a black suit with a red shirt underneath. "Is that one your brother?"

"Yes," said Feliciano. Red was Lovino's favorite color.

"Hey, Gil, womb to tomb," said Ludwig to a mannequin that was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He gave the mannequin a sideways half-hug, and faced Feliciano. Feliciano held his hands.

"I, Ludwig, take thee Feliciano," he began. Was this...yes, it had to be. Feliciano's cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he didn't care at all. It was a pleasant sort of hurt.

"I, Feliciano, take thee Ludwig." His hands were warm now. He never wanted him to let go. Feliciano wondered why life couldn't be like this all of the time. Maybe this was what Lovino felt when he was with Antonio.

"For richer, for poorer." Money wouldn't have to be an issue. They could run off, run off to somewhere with green grass everywhere and people who didn't care who married who. They could figure something out for money, he was sure of it.

"In sickness and health." Feliciano could picture a family. A mismatched, perfect family. There would be a house in the country. The city was harsh and unforgiving. They could find somewhere safe.

"To love and to honor." Now the words felt true, not just rehearsed. Maybe that was how you knew that you were ready to be married; if you could say the oath and feel it. He meant every word.

"To hold and to keep." It could work. Surely it could.

"From now until forever." They could do it. Oh, they would die, but Feliciano felt as if their love would last for forever and a day.

"Till death do us part." Death didn't scare him. If and when Ludwig died, Feliciano could look death straight in the eyes and tell him to take him, as well. There was a time when death had scared him. He felt an uncanny sort of peace now. He smiled warmly and looked straight into Ludwig's eyes. He remembered at the dance, when he had been scared too. They had seemed icy and unforgiving, but now there was no where else he wanted to look.

"With this ring, I thee wed." They would invite Antonio, and Lovino, and his dearest friends. They would be there. Everyone he loved the most would be there and they would be smiling with him.

"With this ring, I thee wed." Ludwig's friends could be there, too. Maybe if they all saw how much they loved each other, maybe (just maybe) it could stop all of the fighting. At the very least, they could learn to be in the same room without getting into a battle. Enemies would become brothers, after all. At least in law.

Ludwig pulled Feliciano into a tight embrace, and Feliciano hugged him back. There they stood, holding each other. Feliciano smiled as the reality of their 'game' hit him. It must have hit Ludwig, too, because then they were kissing, and Feliciano didn't care what the mannequins saw. His hair was soft. His shirt felt good. Everything about the moment was perfect.

Best of all, there wasn't going to be a fight. Proof that they really did have magic. Of course they did.


	9. La Lotta

So a day had already passed.

In a way, it wasn't fair. The fact was, Ludwig had been torn. On the one hand, he had wanted the day to be over in the beat of a heart. He was going to see Feliciano again. (After their last meeting, he had been unable to sleep.) But, then, there was the fight. The fight made a chill go down his spine. Could he really stop two gangs from fighting? He knew how his brother could be. When he got a certain way-

No. He had to. For Feliciano's sake, he had to stop the fight. And that was what he set out to do.

Now, he stood behind Gilbert, as Antonio stared daggers at them both. Actually, he could have been staring daggers at the Jets as a whole. Ludwig wasn't sure.

"Ready!" cried a voice. It must have been that Japanese boy who seemed to act as Feliciano's bodyguard. He stepped out of the shadows. Ludwig found it uncanny how he had been able to remain unnoticed.

"Ready," said the poision-laced, but otherwise calm, voice of Vash.

"Come center and shake hands!" said Gilbert.

"For what?" asked Antonio.

Gilbert smirked. Of course he smirked. Gilbert almost seemed to enjoy fighting. (Ludwig had been through enough aftermaths to know that this wasn't true; Gilbert suffered from insomnia for days after fighting, and often shook violently in whatever sleep he did get.) During fights, however, Gilbert was positively perfect at getting people pissed off. "That's just the way it's done, buddy boy," he declared.

"I don't belive in false pretenses," said Antonio gravely. "I know you don't like us, and we have no reason to like you. If we are going to fight, let us fight."

Vash had just been about to strike at Antonio when Ludwig stepped between him and Antonio. "No!" he said. Gilbert raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

"Well, hello there, West," he said, in an eerily calm tone. "Why, it's so lovely to see you so involved. But, I think Vash had things under control, am I right? So, get with the gang like we talked about." After 'so', his tone dissolved to poisonous. The bird on his head chirped ominously. (Ludwig had not even known such a thing was possible.)

"There shouldn't be a fight," said Ludwig. Antonio just glared at him.

"Your companions have already started a fight. Therefore, there is one. I am sorry you didn't stop them from being insensitive and racist earlier. It is too late now. Unless, of course, you want me to kill you now for harassing Felicia, I request that you move." It was odd how polite he sounded. Ludwig suspected that he didn't know the English to insult him more crudely. Then again, maybe he really was that polite.

"Antonio, don't," said Ludwig simply.

"Dude! West! G-T-F-O, pronto! He's going to shank you!" exclaimed Gilbert. Of course he was wrong. After all, it was a fair fight. He had done that much. But it was him who turned out to be wrong, because at the same time Gilbert pulled out his lucky Swiss Army Knife, Antonio pulled out a dagger.

Well. This complicated things.

"Hold back West!" shouted Gilbert, and he felt Vash and Rod do exactly that. Ludwig struggled to get out of their grasps. Rod was not particuarly strong, but Vash was, and together they made a challenge. That was when he saw it. _Oh no. _There, gleaming almost as brightly as the reflection of both of their illegally-brought knives, was a weak spot for Antonio. Ludwig knew that Gilbert saw it as well. He must have, because it took him shouting his name to stop him from striking.

Just as he had spoken, however, he heard Gilbert cry out pain. There was a long string of curse words. Ludwig ran to Gilbert, who was now kneeling on the ground. Inside of him was a beautiful, Spanish-made knife. Blood soaked his shirt.

In a fit of fury, Ludwig grabbed the Swiss Army Knife and charged at Antonio. Before he knew what he had done, he had stabbed Antonio in the same place he had stabbed Gilbert. _Gilbert. _Ludwig ran to his side.

"Hey," said Gilbert weakly, "good on you, West." He laughed bitterly, and tiny drops of blood speckled the edges of his lips as he did so. "You helped your awesome big brother die happy." No, this couldn't be happening. Gilbert _was _his big brother, and now he was dying?

"I can't believe that motherfucker stabbed me," he said, choking on his words slightly. "Isn't that just a bitch?" _Oh God, oh God _rang in his ears like a pulse, or an alarm clock, or both. Now Gilbert was whispering. "That is so not awesome."

"No," said Ludwig. "It's not."

Gilbert opened his mouth to say something, but then his body went limp. His red eyes rolled to different corners. The bird that had been perched atop his head stayed at his side, chirping almost mournfully, though it could have been Ludwig's imagination.

When Ludwig stood up, everyone was gone. He heard the hum of a police siren and did the only thing he could think to do: run. He left behind his only brother and the man he murdered.


	10. I Feel Pretty

Yao didn't believe in fortune telling, astrology, predictions, or any of the other things that often got people in trouble. Believing in things like that was how hopes were raised, and then crushed.

That being said, he examined himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, which for once was down. Yao prefered to wear his hear in a ponytail when at all possible. In public, at home, in bed, it didn't matter. When his hair was down, he looked like a _girl. _His feminine facial features and (it must be said) figure served only to make things worse.

"Today is my last day as a brunette," he said, finally. Francis looked up from the dirty magazine he had been flipping through.

"Not a loss," he said nonchalantly. "And, anyway, what is that American saying? Blondes have more fun?"

"Aiyaa," sighed Yao. He picked up a red comb and ran it through his hair. He winced slightly as he hit a small tangle. "Ivan keeps going to that stupid fortune teller,aru. She told him that he would meet a sexy blonde man." He winced again, this time from the thought and not from the comb. "So I'm going to dye my hair blonde," he added simply.

Francis wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe she was referring to me?" Yao snorted derisively.

"Stop making humor before someone hears you, _fool,_" he replied testily. Yao highly doubted that Ivan would sleep with Francis. Francis was disgusting. Besides, Yao got the feeling that Francis just said such things to give off a reputation. After all, from outward appearances, Francis was no masochist. Yao smiled a mean little grin to himself, giggling slightly as visual images of Ivan chasing Francis with his trademark bloody spigot filled his head.

Francis appeared in thought, which was more or less of a rare occurence. Then he spoke. "What has happened to him?" Yao was surprised. He turned around to face Francis.

"Happened to who?"

"Feliciano."

_Oh. _Now that was a question worth considering. Lately, he was so damn happy; not that he had ever been the gloomy sort, but now he was so cheerful it almost frightened Yao. He often sang to himself, and danced through the hallways.

"Oh," said Yao, echoing his thought from before.

"What has Kiku done to him?" asked Francis. Yao arched his eyebrows.

"Kiku?" he asked. That was pretty unlikely. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Kiku didn't have Feliciano's attention most of the time, much less his heart. "Why Kiku?"

"So he's just getting all dolled up for us, then?" Francis suggested. "Merci, mon ami!" he called to the bathroom where Feliciano was, apparently, applying one hell of a getting-ready ritual. As far as Yao could remember, it had never taken him this long to get ready for anything. Yao walked over to the vanity and rooted through it until he found what he had been looking for. He sat down on the white carpet and began to apply the red nail polish.

Feliciano ran into the room. With all the time he had taken, Yao half expected him to come out wearing a dress and makeup. But no, he was wearing a nice-ish black suit with a blue shirt underneath. Blue was not Yao's favorite color, but it seemed to work for him, at least. "Yao! Francis! My adorable friends," he exclaimed. Hmph. Yao was slightly offended. He was not adorable; he was manly. He winced as a drop of toenail polish dropped onto the carpet. Oh well, it wasn't his carpet; someone else would deal with it.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, giggling from behind his hand. This got Francis's attention.

"I adore secrets!" cried Francis. Yao rolled his eyes. True, Francis loved secrets, but that didn't mean that it was a good idea to tell them to him. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!" he whined. Why was Francis so concerned? Knowing Feliciano, it was probably something stupid, like, "I ate spaghetti today!" or "When I wear dresses, it makes me feel pretty."

"Tonight is my wedding night," whispered Feliciano. Francis audibly groaned.

"The poor thing is out of his mind, aru," said Yao, as he applied a second layer of polish to his pinkie toe. Feliciano laughed.

"I am. _Crazy,_" he said, for emphasis. He sat down on his big, fluffy canopy bed. Francis glanced at him from the chair he sat in. He had set down his porn; now he _really _had his attention.

"He might be, at that," muttered Francis. "He looks somehow different," he added.

Feliciano blinked at them both, his eyes widened. "I do?" he asked.

Yao gave Francis a look, raising his eyebrows. "And I think he is up to something," he said, wiggling his toes in an attempt to get them to dry faster.

Feliciano gave them the same blank look he had before. "I am?" he asked.

"Oh, goodness," said Francis. "'I do', 'I am', he talks like a parrot." Indeed, he did. Finally, Yao couldn't stand it anymore.

"What is going on with you, aru?" he exclaimed.

Feliciano shuffled his feet. "I don't know," he mumbled. But then that same smile from before was on his face once again. "Lately, I just feel so pretty, and witty, and gay-" Yao held out a hand to stop him. He blushed, and coughed into his hand.

"Ah, Feliciano, we're both really happy. And, we're very honored you chose to tell us, aru," he muttered. This was so awkward it hurt. "But, um, we already knew that you were gay. I mean, it was kind of obvious." In point of fact, Yao didn't care one way or the other. Hell, if you wanted to subscribe to labels, he himself was gay. He just didn't want to hear the story of how Feliciano had come to that particular realization. Francis, however, was practically sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Details, details!" he exclaimed. "Did you find out his name first or was it a one-night stand? What attracted you to him? How good was he? How b-" Feliciano raised his hand meekly, and Francis stopped.

"Um," he said, "I don't know what you two are talking about." He tucked his hair behind his ears. "I may be using the word incorrectly, of course. Isn't 'gay' the English word for 'felice'?" he asked, his face somewhat red. Yao wasn't fluent in Italian, which he suspected the word 'felice' was, but he was vaugely familiar with the Spanish phrase 'Feliz Navidad', 'Merry Christmas,' etcetera, etcetera, so given the context he assumed it meant happy.

"No," he said quickly. "Gay means..." Okay, now _this _was awkward. Francis leapt up, clutching his filthy magazine.

"Flip to page 13," he instructed Feliciano. Before Yao could tell him to stop, Feliciano had already done so. His mouth dropped open a little.

"Please close that," he said, turning his head away. Francis set the magazine on a nearby end table. "Why on Earth did you show me that?" he cried.

Francis shrugged. "That's what gay means," he said.

Feliciano paled. "I think I meant 'happy'..." he said. Francis shrugged again.

"Perhaps...although personally, I think you are a little of both." He snickered to himself, and Feliciano blushed even more.

"I don't think I would ever do what those people in that magazine were doing," he said. Good. Yao didn't know what it was, and he really didn't want to, either. Francis was getting out of control.

"Are you still happy?" asked Yao. To his utter shock, Feliciano was back to giggling and skipping around the room like a fool.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

"Why?" Yao was outraged. What could possibly make him so happy that he could repress the filth inside of one of Francis's magazines?

"Because," he said, and Yao could swear he was _squealing _by this point. "I'm loved!" Francis snapped his fingers, like he was finally understanding.

"Oh!" he said. "That's fabulous! Who is he?" But Feliciano just smiled, not saying anything. Yao knew exactly who it was.

"You know that guy from the dance? German guy, about 'this' high?" He held his hand to the top of Feliciano's vanity. "The one he got into _trouble _with, aru?" Francis's eyes lit with recognition.

"So that's who. Well, now you have to tell us, little Felicia. Was it any good at all? I've always heard that those west-side boys are good in bed, but they're so filthy that even I wouldn't sleep with them. Also, I'm not sure if he counts, since he's a second generation immigrant and all. But, yeah. Have you seen him naked?" Francis could be so inconsiderate. Feliciano's face was completely red now, though he was still giggling, and he opened his mouth to answer.

"I haven't-ahh!" His mid-sentence scream was shocking to both of them.

"Aiyah! What happened, aru?" He rushed to Feliciano's side. Blood ran down his face. _What the hell? _

"Relax," said Francis. "Lean forward, don't lean backwards. You'll choke if you do that," he said. Wow. Francis was useful? But Yao still didn't know what had happened. Where had the blood come from? Francis dug around in his pocket until he found a moist towelette. "Just lean forward, I can clean your face."

"What on Earth?" mumbled Feliciano. "I don't understand," he said.

"Don't worry at all," said Francis. "Of course, once I get your face cleaned up, I'm going to make fun of you until you die, but it's not a big deal. When I was your age, I used to get nosebeleeds all the time."

Oh.

Well, wasn't that beautiful? Yao shook his head.

Once Francis had cleaned up Feliciano's face, he led him to the mirror. "Good as new," proclaimed Francis. He laughed. "By the way, this tells me far more than words, little Feli," he added.

"What?" Then he caught sight of his reflection. "Wow! I look much better than I felt. Yay, I feel pretty again!"

Suddenly, the door opened with a bang. Yao turned his head. It was Kiku, and he looked like a mess. His clothes were torn, his hair was completely messed up, he was covered in dirt, and worst of all, he had a large gash running down the side of his face.

"What happened?" Feliciano cried. "You have to get washed up right now!" Kiku shook his head.

"I have to tell you, Feliciano. At the fight-" Feliciano shook his head vehemently.

"There was not a fight. You're wrong," he said firmly. His tone was stricter than Yao had ever heard it.

"There was," said Kiku. "Nobody meant for it to happen," he said, coughing slightly. All of the color drained from Feliciano's face.

"Tell me," whispered Feliciano. His tone was grave. Yao frowned; he wanted to leave, but he wanted desperately to know what had happened. It didn't seem to matter. Thankfully, Feliciano had forgotten he was there for the moment.

"It's bad," said Kiku numbly.

"How bad?"

"You see," he began, but then he clammed up. Kiku was always like that. When bad things happened, he would shut up.

Feliciano sighed. "If you say it fast, it will be easier." Kiku nodded.

"There-was-a-fight." Feliciano nodded. "And-Toni." He nodded again. "And-somehow-a-knife-and-Toni-and-someone-" Feliciano grabbed Kiku's arms, roughly.

"What happened to Ludwig?" he asked. Kiku's face darkened. Feliciano shook him by the shoulders. "What _happened? _Is he alright?"

"He killed your brother," he said, leaving Feliciano's bedroom and slamming the door behind him. When Yao saw Feliciano begin to kneel to the Virgin Mary, he snuck out as well. Before he left, his eyes fell on his red nail polish stain. It looked a little sick, now. He hoped no one would notice.


	11. Somewhere

Feliciano was practically sobbing through his prayers.

"Our Father, which art in heaven," he uttered under his breath, his eyes closed as shut as he could get them. "Santificato il tuo nome; venga il tuo regno; fatta la tua volontà, in terra come in cielo." He was lapsing in and out of Italian. He didn't particuarly care. "Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. E non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal male. Perché tuo è il regno, il potere e la gloria, nei secoli dei secoli. _Amen._" Feliciano was raised Catholic. When he didn't know what to do, he prayed.

He didn't know if Kiku was lying, though he suspected that he was not. There had been a fight, that much was certain from how he had looked, but was it true? Was Antonio really dead? No. It couldn't be.

But didn't it have to be? Worst of all, hadn't Ludwig killed him?

No, that thought was the worst one of all. He whispered the Lord's prayer again, this time completely in Italian. He continued to do so over and over again, fumbling for a rosary inside of his suit's pocket. When he found one, he felt inexplicable relief, though not nearly enough. He had just been about to start about ten or so 'Hail Mary's," when he had this feeling. He slowly turned his head towards the fire escape. And there he was.

His hair was a mess (which was peculiar because every single other time he had seen him, it had been damn near perfect), his shirt was nearly ripped in two, his face was covered in blood.

"Killer," whispered Feliciano. He held his face into his hands. "Killer, killer, killer!" he sobbed.

"I tried to stop them, I did. I didn't mean to hurt Antonio. I may not have shown it, but Gilbert meant so much to me. He really did. When Antonio stabbed him-" Feliciano looked up at Ludwig. He wiped his eyes, but said nothing. "Antonio didn't mean it, either. I know that." He sighed. "I didn't just come for your forgiveness, or to escape the police-"

"No," whispered Feliciano. He felt like he couldn't speak any louder. He stared at the floor. Oh, someone had spilled red nail polish. He looked away; it looked like blood.

"It's easy now-" he began, but Feliciano shushed him.

"No," he said again, louder but in a softer tone.

"Whatever you want, I'll do," he said. Feliciano looked up at him. He gave him a small little smile.

"Stay with me," he said, taking his hand in his own. Ludwig smiled back at him, but then looked at the floor.

"I," he began, but was silent for a while. He cleared his throat. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, the words coming out quickly and under his breath. "I-love-you-very-much," he said. Feliciano smiled at him broadly.

"Mi ami?" he asked, gripping his hands tightly. Then he remembered he wasn't speaking English. Okay, he should have known that, but during times of high emotion he tended to switch in and out of the two languages freely. "You love me?" he asked again.

"Yes," he said. It was so funny how embarrassed he had been to say it; Feliciano had said it the first night he had met him.

"Ti amo! Ti amo!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his neck. He kissed his face several times; on the cheek, on the ear, on the chin. He felt Ludwig's hands on his back.

"Is that Italian?" he asked.

"Yep," said Feliciano. "I guess I could have just said 'I love you', but I don't know. When I say it in Italian, it feels like I mean it more. I don't know why."

"I could have said it in German," said Ludwig. "I'm fluent in it, though I don't speak the language much around here. Anyway, I wanted you to know what I was saying." He laughed softly. "Am I right in assuming you wouldn't have known what I meant?"

Feliciano giggled slightly. "Yeah, pretty much."

After a pause, Ludwig spoke again. "Ti amo," he said. Feliciano hugged him tighter.

"We'll be alright," he said. "I know it. We're really together now."

"But it's not us," said Feliciano. "It's everything around us." And it was. That was how it felt.

"Then we'll find some place where nothing can get to us," Ludwig said. "Not one of them, not anything." And Feliciano believed him, with all of his heart. He felt dizzy; his heart pounded in his ears and he tried desperately to remember the words for 'baciami' in English.

"Could you..?" he began. The word was at the tip of his tongue. He hated when this happened; he considered himself fluent in English but when he got too emotional there would always be that one word that would escape him. "Please, could you..?" It made him tense, not knowing. "Bacio, bacio," he whispered. "What is it in English?" he asked. It wasn't like he would know, of course, since he wasn't fluent in Italian.

Ludwig's face went slightly red. "I don't know," he admitted. There was a minute or so of silence that Feliciano found to be awkward.

But when Ludwig's lips met his own (and the word came to him, but he didn't particuarly need the word 'kiss' anymore so it was okay) Feliciano really did feel like he was in a place where nothing could get to him. Something or other led him to sit on his beautiful, fluffy bed-and even though he was a good Catholic, and he wasn't 'that kind of boy', he pulled Ludwig down with him.

Briefly, he broke the kiss. "Hold my hand," he mumbled. He felt Ludwig grab his hand. "And we're halfway there," he said, smiling.

Ludwig appeared to think about this for a second. "Hold my hand I'll take you there," he said. Feliciano couldn't stop smiling, until Ludwig kissed him again and swallowed his laugh.

_Don't stop. Don't ever stop. _


	12. Gee, Officer Kirkland

Vash held his little sister's hand as they walked through the alleway. Her steps were uneven; she hadn't been at the fight, but she had been trying to get there, and in the process she had somehow managed to lose one of her boots. It wasn't exactly like they had a lot of money, and with every sound of one clicking boot followed by the dull thump of her bare foot, it made Vash's stomach churn.

"Vash," said Lili, in her soft, quiet voice. "Have you seen Wes-" She stopped herself. "Ludwig, anywhere?" Vash peered down at her.

"Nobody has," he said. He knew he sounded melancholic. His voice seemed unable to convey feeling anymore.

"Geez," mumbled Lilli. They walked in silence until he noticed that she was messing around with her hair.

"What are you doing?" Vash asked her. She gave him a weak smile.

"I found a ribbon on the street," she said. She held up a purple ribbon. It was hopelessly tattered, and Vash could swear it was stained with blood, but the look on her face as she put it in her hair kept him silent.

After a while, she spoke again. "Vash?" she asked.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you see them?"

"See who?"

She fiddled with the ribbon in her hair. "You know," she mumbled quietly. She looked up at him with her huge green eyes. "At the fight. Gilbert and Antonio." Vash didn't meet her gaze. After a long silence he spoke.

"I wish it was yesterday."

"Do you think we should run away, Bruder?" she asked. No. He couldn't run away. He may have been born in America, but he was Swiss, damn it to hell. (He had no idea what Lili was, but when he had more or less adopted her, she had spoken in a dialect similar to Swiss German. She was probably Swiss as well.) And a Swiss never ran away.

Why was he so bad at staying neutral? Sometimes he just wanted to shoot everyone and be done with it. Just to wall himself up in a corner with him and Lili and no one else. But no. It wasn't that simple.

"What's the matter, Lili?" he asked. "Are you scared?"

"Yes," she said, and he heard her voice shake. Oh, no. She couldn't cry. Vash hated it when Lili cried. He shook his head.

"Well, don't be," he said. Suddenly, a police whistle shot through the air. He leaned down and pulled Lili close to him. "Listen," he whispered hotly into her ear, "_never_, and I mean never, let a cop know you're scared. Understand?" She nodded, trembling.

"I say! You two! You little blonde waifs! Stop right there!" cried the overly-British voice of Officer Kirkland. Vash couldn't help but roll his eyes. And anyway, he was no waif. They kept walking, but the whistle sounded again. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, you two," said Officer Kirland. Vash gave Lili a tiny smile.

"Well, look who it is," he said. "Why, it's Officer Kirkland." Lili shook next to him.

"T-top of the evening to you, Officer Kirkland," she said, her voice quaking.

"I'll crack the top of your skulls, if you don't mind," said Officer Kirkland strictly. "There will be consequences if you don't stop when I whistle, do you hear me?"

"Of course we heard you, sir," chirped Lili. Good. She was less scared. The quicker she learned not to be fearful of constables like Officer Kirkland, the better. The only thing vaugely frightening about Officer Kirkland was the fact that he clearly didn't own tweezers or, for that matter, a mirror. His eyebrows were frightening, but nothing else about the man came even close.

"Do you want to got hauled down to the station house?" exclaimed Officer Kirkland.

"Indeed not, sir," she said.

"Now, let me tell you what," he said, "I shall make you a proposition. I am aware that you were having a skirmish-" he began. Lili interrupted him.

"Us? Heavens, no," she said. "We were at the playground." Vash tried not to snicker. The last time he had been to the playground was when he had seen a shotgun shell sticking out of the sand in the sandbox. He had been ten years old.

"We like the playground," she trilled on. "It keeps us deprived children off of the streets. It gives us comradeship," she said. Officer Kirkland rolled his eyes, but she continued. "A place for pleasant pastimes, and for us, born like we were on the chilly pavement-" He cut her off.

"Alright now, you smart-alecks, it's down to the station."

"Which way?" asked Lili innocently. Meanwhile, Vash was calmly loading his favorite gun with a tranqulizer dart. About a month ago, Vash had come across the incredible fortune of coming across a police officer who had gotten into a car accident-due ironically enough to driving under the influence. He had subsequently looted him.

"This way. Come along now, ch-_oof!" _Vash had never been hit in the back of the neck with a tranquilizer dart before. He imagined it was probably a very traumatic experience.

"You're such a good shot, Bruder," said Lili, beaming. "You didn't even have to kill him." 

"There's been too much killing lately," he said simply, taking Lili's hand again in his own as they crossed the street.

"Hey, Vash?" she asked. "Do you remember that game Gilbert used to play with us?"

Indeed, he did. Once upon a time (before the Sharks had even moved to America) they had played a game involving the imitation of various adults. Gilbert was always the juvinile delinquent, Vash was the judge, Rod the psychiatrist, and Lili the social worker. Vash smiled softly.

"I remember," he said. Lili giggled to herself.

"I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived," she said. That had been one of Gilbert's favorite lines. It was particuarly sad hearing it; Vash still hadn't told Lili that Gilbert was dead.

Vash stopped when he saw a shadow, but he quickly recognized it as Rod's. What he didn't recognize was a smaller shadow next to it. "Rod?" he called. Rod stepped out of the shadows towards them, with a scrawny brunette at his side. 

"Liz!" exclaimed Lili.

"Buddy boys!" said Liz. She smirked at them.

"She followed me home," muttered Rod. Vash arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He walked alongside with Rod and Liz. He wasn't sure where they were going, but it was probably Doc's.

"Go wear a skirt," said Rod to Liz. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I have scabby knees," she said. "Listen-"

"We have to teach those immigrants a lesson," said Rod coldly. Vash glanced at him.

"Haven't you had enough?" he asked. Meanwhile, Liz just smiled. Rod glared at her.

"What do you know?"

"I know I gotta go wear a skirt," she said. He pushed her against the outside of a building, grabbing her by her shirt. "Hey, that's my no-no square," she said, almost laughing at him.

"Come on, Liz," said Rod.

"I know plenty," she said. "I figured it would be a good idea for somebody to go undercover. Which I happen to be very good at. I'm practically a ninja," she said.

"She sure is milking this for all it's worth," muttered Vash. Lili giggled.

"Damn right I am," said Liz, meeting Vash's eyes breifly before turning her attention back to Rod. "I heard that Japanese kid, Kiku something, right? I heard him talking to the Sharks about Ludwig and his little Italian lover," she said. Most everyone winced at her use of the word 'lover', which made her laugh even more. Then she put on her serious face. "Then Kiku said, 'I'm going to get Ludwig if it's the last thing I do.'"

Rod let her go. "What did I tell you? They just won't stop," he said, kicking a nearby trash can over.

"Easy, Action," said Vash. Rod softened a little at his old 'gang name'. When the prospect of 'gang names' came up, they had come and gone upon Gilbert's insistence, but just like 'West', 'Action' had stuck for at least a little while.

"We have to find him. We have to protect him from the Sharks," said Rod gravely. "Vash, go over to Doc's," he said. Right. He began to head over that way, though he still listened to make sure whatever Lili had to do wasn't too dangerous.

"I can cover the parks," said Lili. Rod nodded at her. "I'll get the back alleys."

Liz arched an eyebrow at him. "What about me?" she asked. Rod looked her in the eyes.

"You keep in touch with everyone, so we can find out who has found Tony where." A big smile spread across Liz's face.

"I'm on it," she said. Just as Vash was leaving, he heard Rod yell something. He stopped, but he had been talking to Liz.

"Y-you've done pretty well," he muttered. She giggled, though not in a particuarly girly way. It sounded sarcastic.

"I thank you kindly, buddy-boy," she said, blowing him a kiss as she held her frying pan over her shoulder. Vash rolled his eyes as they both stared at each other from the corners of their eyes. They were so in love it was a little sickening.

At least Lili was safe. That was all that mattered.


	13. A Boy Like That

When Feliciano woke up, he expected silence, or birds, or something pleasant. Instead, he got screams of "Apri la porta!" from Lovino. Still, when he remembered everything that had happened, he smiled to himself. Nothing could ruin his day.

"Feliciano! Open this door right now! Why the hell did you lock it?" Feliciano picked up a shirt off of the floor that he assumed was his and fumbled with the buttons.

"I didn't know it was locked!"

There was a pause. Then: "Well, open it right now! I said, do it! I need you!" Oh, no. Just as he had been about to officially panic, he realized that Ludwig was next to him, upright and getting dressed. When had that happened?

"I think you need to leave," he whispered. Ludwig laughed softly.

"I know," he said. And now he was completely dressed. _What the hell? _It took Feliciano forever to put his clothes on in the morning. He laughed and kissed Ludwig on the cheek. "Arrividerci," he said softly, whispering it in his ear and kissing his earlobe after he did so.

"Meet me at Doc's," he said under his breath as he began to climb out of the fire escape. Feliciano nodded. "Also, it may be a good idea to put on some pants. You know, in case your brother is suspicious." Feliciano blushed, but smiled at him.

"Okay!" he said. "Ti amo!"

"Ti amo," he said, as he climbed down. Feliciano ran to his dresser and pulled out a pair of pants that he never quite liked that much. He was just doing the button when he opened the door.

"Buongiorno!" he exclaimed. Lovino scowled at him and walked over to the bed. Then he walked over to the window, glaring as he did so.

"Why so grumpy, Lovino?" he asked.

"Why the hell do you think? I can't believe you," he snarled. "I can't believe you slept with the man who killed Antonio," he whispered hotly under his breath. "I can't fucking believe you would stoop so low."

"Forget him! Forget that boy. Find another. I don't care. Find a girl, if you want to. Suits me either way. Leave him and find someone else." Lovino picked a pillow up off of the bed (it had been Ludwig's pillow, but Lovino didn't need to know that) and chucked it at the wall.

"Stick to your own kind, Feliciano!" he said. Now he was screaming. "A boy who kills _cannot love you. _He has no heart! He has no soul!"

"But Antonio killed Ludwig's brother-" he started, but the look on Lovino's face told him to shut up.

"He's going to leave you, you know. He got what he wanted. I know how boys like that work. They swoop in on little Catholic virgins, and fuck them, and leave them." He sighed. "Very smart, Feliciano. Very smart."

"It isn't true!" said Feliciano. Lovino looked at him.

"It's true for you. Not for me." Feliciano took a deep breath. "I hear your words, Lovino. They make sense to me. They're right. But my _heart, _Lovino, my _heart _knows they're wrong. Do you understand? You claim to have loved Antonio. You should know better. What else can I do, but love who I love?"

He fully expected to be beaten up, but Lovino gave him one of his few looks of understanding.

"Kiku has a katana," he said, quietly and precisely. Feliciano tilted his head. Lovino rolled his eyes. "It's a sword, stupid," he said. Oh, okay. Why hadn't he just said that? "He is sending the gang out to hunt for Ludwig. Now you know," he said.

"If he hurts Ludwig, I swear to you, I will-" Lovino cut him off.

"Do what he did to Antonio?" he asked coldly. Feliciano hung his head.

"I love him," he mumbled. Lovino's expression softened.

"I know. I loved Antonio. If you want to waste your time with that fucking potato freak, who am I to stop you? In all honesty, I do not really believe that he's going to hurt you. Which is why I allow it. Despite what he did. It's not your fault you fell in love with such a loser." He laughed bitterly. "After all, just look at who _I _had to love. God only knows," he muttered.

There was a knock at the door. Lovino walked to the door and opened it. "Who the hell let you in?" he asked. Feliciano peeked over his shoulder. Oh. It was Lt. Jones. He shuddered a little bit.

"That Japanese kid! Look, I need to talk to that Italian guy! Is that cool?" Lovino scowled at him.

"Why don't you act like a professional instead of like a teenager?" he spat. Lt. Jones shrugged.

"Whatever, man. Is that him over there?" He went ahead and let himself in.

"Please excuse me," said Feliciano. "I have to go get some aspirin," he said. Lt. Jones blocked his path.

"These are just a couple of questions," he said. Feliciano frowned slightly.

"Please, later-"

"No! You were at the dance at the gym, weren't you?" His tone was harsh, and Feliciano winced but nodded.

"A man named Antonio got into a fight because you danced with the wrong boy."

"Oh?"

"Who was the wrong boy?" Feliciano frowned. Lt. Jones made him uncomfortable.

"Ah, Lovino, my headache is getting worse. Please go to the drugstore and tell them what I need." He was incredibly thankful when Lovino looked him in the eyes and nodded slightly.

"Should I tell him to hold it for you till you come?"

"He'll be a while," said Lt. Jones. Feliciano frowned again. That really wasn't what he had wanted to hear.

"Yes. Tell him I will pick it up myself," he said. He turned again to Lt. Jones. "You were saying?"

"Who was the wrong boy you danced with?" Feliciano gave him his most pleasant smile.

"A boy from Portugal. His name is Bernardo."


	14. Maiale di Antonio

Lovino sighed as he walked into Doc's. He didn't particuarly want to walk into a place where everyone hated him. Why was he doing this again? Oh, yes, that was right; because his brother just had to fall in love with a freaking gang member. God, Feliciano sometimes. He could be insufferable.

Then again, he was no better. He smiled bitterly to himself. He had always thought that in the event of Antonio's death he would look back and think nothing but pleasant thoughts, but no, it seemed that he felt the same way about Antonio he always had. Love and hate. Amore e odio.

When Lovino pushed the door open, and the little bell at the top of the door went off, everything stopped. Honestly, it was incredibly awkward.

"I'd like to see Doc," said Lovino. Doc was a Polish man who had the tendency to talk like a cheerleader from a stereotypical high school comedy. He was one of the few people in America Lovino liked. One of the Jets (some dork with glasses) glared at him.

"He's not here," he said. Lovino snorted.

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure at a business called 'Doc's', run by a man named 'Doc', I might expect to find 'Doc'. So, where is he?" He put his hands on his hips.

"He's gone to the bank," said one of two nearly identical blondes. The only distinguishing trait was that the shorter one had a ribbon in what Lovino assumed was her hair. The one talking sounded Swiss. It was funny how so many of the people born in America still sounded foreign. For sure, their parents were.

"_Sei un coglione! _The banks are closed at night. Try again," he snarled. The stunted one spoke.

"You know how skinny Doc is. Maybe he slipped through the night deposit slot." Okay, she was definitely a girl. That or an offensively feminine male. He didn't like her attitude at all.

"And got stuck halfway in," suggested a skinny girl with brown hair. She looked like a street rat. Also, who the hell carried a frying pan with them as a weapon? Idiots.

"Which indicates that there's no telling when he'll be back," said the smart-ass dork with the mole on his face. He pushed his glasses up his nose, as if to accentuate his dorkiness. "Buenos noches, señorita," he said mockingly. Please. His thick Austrian accent did not sound good trying on a romance language. Maybe Lovino had an accent, but so did these "America-born" fools. '_That's Spanish, you retards!' _thought Lovino. _'And you just called me a girl.' _ He glared straight into his eyes. _'Only Antonio speaks Spanish to me and gets away with it.' _Lovino stormed towards the cellar.

"Where are you going?" asked the scrawny one.

"Downstairs. To see Doc," he said, but the Jet with the glasses stepped in front of his path.

"Didn't I tell you? He's not here." _'I'm pretty fucking sick of your attitude,' _thought Lovino, but he struggled to keep his cool.

"I think I'd like to see for myself," he said calmly. In a snotty tone of voice, the little Austrian who couldn't spoke.

"Say please, now." Fine. He wanted to be a whiny little bitch? Whatever. Lovino could play by his little rules, if he had too. He took a deep breath.

"...Please," Lovino said.

"Por favor," he said, same snotty tone. Okay, he was seriously starting to piss him off. _'That's still Spanish, you idiots. Do I look Spanish to you?' _he thought bitterly.

"Let me pass right now," said Lovino testily. He looked up at the sneering, bespectacled asshole who was harrassing him. He hated being short; not because it made him feel weak, but because it probably made people like _him _feel powerful.

"I think you're too dark to pass," he said. Oh. Wasn't that lovely.

"As much as I'd love to get a heaping helping of racism, I think I've had my fill," said Lovino darkly. He tried to push past, but now the Swiss had gotten up and was blocking him as well.

"Listen, you-" Lovino stopped himself. He hated to admit it, but against all of these guys, plus Frying Pan Chick, he would probably get his ass kicked. He didn't particuarly want to be on the recieving end of a hate crime, especially given the incompetence of the local police force, so he bit his tongue.

"We're listening," said the Swiss guy.

"I have to give a friend of yours a message. I've got tell Ludwig-"

"He's not here," said Glasses Boy. _Ugh. _If he could just fucking cooperate, maybe they could get something done. Lovino sighed.

"I know he is," he said shortly. The blonde Swiss (the one who Lovino could actually believe was a male) peered down at him. Damn it, here everyone was tall.

"Who is the message from?" he asked. Lovino couldn't detect an ounce of humanity in his tone, but he didn't pick up on any spite or sarcasm, either.

"Never mind," he said stiffly.

"It couldn't be from that little Japanese boy, could it?" Before Lovino could respond, Frying Pan Chick spoke up.

"Rod, maybe you should-"

"Liz, please be quiet while I talk to the nice little foreigner."

UGH! He was such a smarmy asshole! At least now he had a name to put to the face. "It's not from Kiku," he said. "I want to _help you_, I want to _stop him._"

Liz arched her eyebrows high. "Antonio's boyfriend wants to help?" Her tone did sound somewhat mocking, but Lovino got the feeling that every time she spoke this happened. Somehow, he felt like she was genuinely surprised.

"Oh, come off it, Liz. Even an illegal immigrant has feelings," said Rod. Okay, he was really starting to piss Lovino off.

"But he wants to help Ludwig," said Liz. Okay, he hadn't liked this girl at first, but Lovino did feel like she was on his side, at least. Rod turned his attention away from Liz, looking straight into Lovino's eyes.

"Antonio's tramp," he said darkly. "Antonio's pig, Antonio's slut." On and on he went. It was horrible. Lovino didn't particuarly care if a group of skinny little white boys had something to say about him, but bringing up Antonio was crossing a line.

"You're all animals!" he screamed. He saw the Swiss boy pull out a gun. Well, wasn't this fun. "You're all filthy creatures! You're vermin! I hate you! You are lower than the dirt I walk on!" That was when Rod and the Swiss boy began to encircle him. The scrawny girl with the ribbon was there, too, holding a pistol. Oh, so she was packing heat, too? Lovely.

"Don't you touch me!" Lovino went on. "If I must die, I want to die honorably, not at the hands of a bunch of bastards like you! Your mothers never loved you. If you were my children, I'd hang myself!" Lovino suspected that he had been moments away from death or major injury, when the door opened.

"Oh, my, God!" exclaimed a voice. Lovino smiled, somewhat meanly. "Like, get away from him! Go on!" Lovino's mean little smile melted into a scowl. He spoke softly.

"Antonio was right." He made sure to glare at each one of them, looking into their eyes as he did so. "He always told me to watch myself. To be kind, but wary. To never trust anyone, but to always-" He stopped himself. He tried not to cry; he hated himself for feeling this way. He tried to make his sadness anger. "If one of you were bleeding in the street, I'd walk by and spit on you!" He headed towards the door, but then turned around.

"Here's a message for your potato-munching friend. Tell the murderer that Feliciano is never going to see him, ever, because Kiku found out and killed him. Stabbed him in the stomach, and all of his guts fell out onto the floor. I had to clean it up," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

Okay, so it wasn't true. Lovino didn't care. When he was a block away, he let himself cry. They were angry little sobs, not loud beautiful tears like his brother always shed. No, his tears came out in fitful spurts, and hurt.

Antonio always had told him to watch himself while watching others, to be kind but wary, to never trust anyone but to always be someone people could trust. But he had always given him one piece of advice, no matter what the situation.

Lovino could so vehemently swear that he heard Antonio's voice, he even looked up. He could almost swear he heard Antonio's sunny voice telling him to 'ser un sol para todos en un mundo lleno con nubes,' but when he looked up all he saw was a flickering street lamp.

Be a sunshine to all in a world filled with clouds. Now, there were only clouds. Lovino sighed. He didn't have a sunshine.


	15. Dead or Alive

Ludwig was whistling to himself a tune he didn't really know, when Doc came downstairs into the cellar, holding some money.

"Did you make a big sale?" he asked. Grimly, Doc shook his head.

"Uh, no, not so much," he said. "Here, this is, like, all I can give you," he said, running his fingers through his blonde hair.

"Thank you so much," said Ludwig, taking the money. He allowed himself to feel hopeful. "I will pay you back when I can."

Doc waved his hand. "It's totally cool," he said. Ludwig gave him a tiny smile.

"When we get married, and we can move to Canada or something, where it's allowed, do you know what we're going to do? Feliciano and I? We're going to adopt children. Children who need homes, and it will be beautiful. We can-" To his utter surprise, he felt a stinging on his face. Had Doc really just slapped him?

"Oh my God! Wake up! What the hell?" He sighed bitterly. "Why do you live like there's a war on? Like, why do you kill?" This was the angriest that Ludwig had ever seen him.

"I already told you, I didn't mean for it to happen. Feliciano understands. If he can understand, I think that you can, as well." Doc smiled sadly.

"I don't have a Feli," he said simply. He opened his mouth to say something, like he was going to elaborate, but didn't. Ludwig returned his sad smile.

"Well, I have, and let me tell you something. Even if it only lasts from one night to the next, it is worth the world."

"Oh my God, in all of the time I've known you, you've totally never gotten so emotional!" He sighed. "That's what makes this so hard to tell you," he said. Ludwig felt his heart beat faster, though not in a particuarly pleasant way.

"What happened?"

"Upstairs? A second ago? That was Lovi," he said. Lovi? Lovi..Lovino! Oh. Oh, no. "Feli is dead. Kiku killed him," he said softly.

Ludwig stood there. He couldn't believe this was happening. He felt like his brain was frozen, like when you tried to use a computer and the screen went blue. (It had been so long since he had used a computer. So long. An image of him and Gilbert when they were kids, playing some game flashed through his mind.) Then it was Feliciano; just image after image of his face, of his laugh, of his smile. He was dead. He had killed him. Sure, Kiku had done it, but if it hadn't been for him..no, no this couldn't be happening. Ludwig refused to believe this had happened. It was a cruel joke. It was a misunderstanding. It was some hilarious turn of events; he wasn't _really _dead, there had just been some kind of communication error. But no. It had to be. He had to be dead.

Ludwig walked up the cellar stairs, ignoring the sound of Doc's voice, and walked into the street. At first he walked, slowly, but then he ran, calling out Kiku's name.

"Come and get me. I'm right here. Come on. Kill me too," he said, speaking normally until his voice crescendoed into a scream.

"It's not like I have anything to live for now, everyone I've ever cared about is dead, so go ahead and kill me," he said, hearing his voice echo back at him. He didn't care. He knew he was being stupid. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Suddenly, there was a whisper from the dark. A girl's voice. "Ludwig," it said. He turned; it was Liz.

"Get out of here," he said shortly. "KIKU! You sneaky bastard! Come and kill me too!" Liz paled; eveni n the darkness it showed.

"What are you doing? Are you insane?" she asked. Ludwig looked at her.

"Leave. Now." She opened her mouth to speak, but retreated into the darkness.

"Come and get me Kiku! I don't care anymore! You might as well kill me. You were going to anyway, weren't you?" He didn't feel like he had any sense of sanity left, so it was okay. Besides, Kiku was probably seconds away from murdering him and he just didn't know it.

He was just about to continue screaming when he heard a voice calling his name, over and over again. He looked up and saw a figure running towards him. The cheer in his tone, the bounce in his step..it had to be, but was it? Was it really?

"Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig!" he cried. "It's me! It's Feliciano! I'm so happy to see you!" Ludwig felt his heart swell with happiness (it was quite a peculiar feeling, being so depressed one second and being so elated the next), and it was followed by an even more peculiar feeling. He fell down to his knees on the pavement and glanced down at his stomach. When he saw the blade sticking out of it, he _knew. _


	16. Finale

Feliciano ran as fast as he could to Ludwig. He paled when he saw a figure step out from the shadows, katana in hand. He stood behind Ludwig with this sick little grin.

"You son of a bitch!" he uttered, surprising even himself. It was probably the first time he had ever cursed. Kiku's face showed genuine concern. Feliciano pushed him out of the way, and knelt beside Ludwig. He held him in his arms; he wanted desperately to cry, but no tears would come out.

"They wouldn't let us be," said Ludwig weakly. Feliciano touched his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Then we'll get away," he whispered. He took Ludwig's hand in his own. "Hold my hand and we're halfway there," he said. Ludwig smiled at him.

"Hold my hand, and I'll take you there," he said. Feliciano lightly brushed his lips with his finger; it sounded like it hurt him to talk. Feliciano didn't want him to hurt. Not anymore.

When Ludwig's eyes closed and his breathing (which had been shaky and staggering) stopped, Feliciano gently rested his body on the concrete. When his eyes fell upon a blonde man that he vaguely recognized holding a gun, he walked over to him.

"Give it to me," he whispered. When he didn't, Feliciano screamed at him. "Give me your gun, RIGHT NOW," and he was only a little surprised when he complied. He walked over to Kiku.

"Tell me, Kiku," he said coldly. "How do you fire this little gun?" It was a handgun. He ran his index finger along the edge of the barrel. "Do you just pull this little trigger?" He walked up and pressed the gun against Kiku's cheek. Now all of the Jets were there, and the Sharks. Feliciano took the gun away from Kiku's face.

"How many bullets are left, Kiku?" He knew that Kiku had no idea, and that it hadn't even been his gun, but he didn't care. "Enough for you?" He pointed the gun at Kiku once more. "And you?" Now he pointed it at a Jet with glasses. "And you?" He pointed it at Ivan. "All of you? YOU ALL KILLED HIIM; and Antonio and Gilbert. I CAN KILL NOW BECAUSE I HATE NOW." Now he was sobbing, loud ugly tears. He barely felt them fall down his face. He looked at Kiku again. "I don't know how many bullets are in this gun, Kiku. Perhaps, neither do you." He sighed shakily. "How many can I kill, Kiku? How many-and still have one bullet left for me?" He dropped the gun on the pavement and sobbed into his hands. He walked over to Ludwig's body, holding it close to him and sobbing into his shoulder.

Lt. Jones appeared and, seeing the body, walked towards it. Feliciano looked up at him. "Don't touch him," he pleaded softly. "Please," he whispered. He picked up Ludwig's head. Through his sobs he lifted up his face to his own and kissed him softly on his lips. He didn't care; no, he couldn't care.

He watched, somberly and utterly silent, as all of the members from both gangs lifted Ludwig's body from his arms. They carried him away to an ambulance that somebody must have called, and Feliciano sat on the street. He shot a glare at Lt. Jones, Officer Kirkland, and that Canadian who had organized the dance. God, the _dance. _They sootd there, being perfectly useless, beefore walking away in silence.

Feliciano continued to sob, his tears hitting the concrete. Maybe this would unite the gangs. Perhaps. _'So even his death brings something good,' _he thought to himself. Ludwig's death had made the world a better place. He cried even harder.


End file.
